


A Christmas Wish

by deanau



Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: cute brother/sister feels, hecky doodle they all cute, it gets me you know, soz for 'spine humanity' trope but, spine bein a cutie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-26 21:55:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2667722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanau/pseuds/deanau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Spine has always been intrigued by the concept of humanity, but has never felt such a need to experience it until recently. Nobody knows what's wrong - even he isn't quite certain when his intrigue became a hankering desire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Spine sighed deeply, steam from his vents mingling with that of the coffee he held loosely. It landed atop the table as he smashed it down, his hand betraying him as he tried to place it gently. Sighing again, he picked up the mug and set about mopping up the coffee. Whilst he was unable to drink it, thus making the event seem less wasteful, it had the disheartening effect of making him feel less human. Trying to salvage his newspaper, he rose and knocked the seat over, leaving the stool lying on the ground - an accident, but an irritating one none the less.

It felt as though his core was being dredged out of his body as he sighed for the third time in less than a minute. The last dregs of now luke-warm coffee dripped from the table, the chair was on the floor and, to make matters that little bit worse, his elder sister came bustling in, wearing a malicious grin. "Oh hi, Spine! What're you d-doing?" Despite her gloating tone, Rabbit was rather concerned about her brother's mess. It was unlike him to even leave a coat over the arm of a sofa, let alone spill his drink and throw chairs on the floor. "Nothing, Rabbit. I was reading, but-"

"But y-y-y-you went and ruined your paper, right, Spine?"

"Yeah, I guess I did." The Spine mumbled, his expression downcast and his eyes searching the floor listlessly. Folding the rumped and sodden newspaper, he tucked it under his arm before moving the stool back to its original place. Feeling a slight tremor in his hand, he clutched the material of his vest in an attempt to hide it from his sister. Her eyes caught the small movement, but she said nothing; The Spine would deny any accusations of his state of ill-repair. If anything, she thought he was utterly unaware of his current condition - his bouyant walk turned slow and lacklustre, the frequent malfunctions, the tremors shaking his chassis. She didn't know what was wrong - but it seemed as though he didn't, either. Turning away, shoulders slumped, The Spine meandered towards the door. His hands finally released the now-crumpled fabric in favour of grasping the damp paper as it began to slip from under his upper arm. He was halted by a quiet murmur: "What's wrong, Th'Spine?"

"I'm not sure, Rabbit," he lied, before continuing towards the Hall of Wires, leaving his sister staring sadly after him.

 

Having stored his body, the remaining parts of The Spine slithered, snake-like, into the mess of wires. The red lighting made him wince, and he hoped Qwerty would not make an appearance. Curling into himself, he settled into the knot of tangled cables. "GREETERINGS, ROBUT."

"Darn it, Qwerty," The Spine groaned, tucking his head further into his elongated backbone.

"HAI SPINE."

"Hello."

"BYE SP1NE."

"Goodbye, Qwerty." The AI flew backwards through the threaded coils, leaving a trail of condiments in its wake. _At least that was brief_ , he thought, continually shifting uncomfortably. The split of spine and chassis had been painful; more so than usual, due to his belligerent (yet purely internal) refusal of maintenance. He supposed he should be ashamed - he was acting like Rabbit, for Pete's sake, but just lately even the idea of it had been grating on him. Before, he'd been able to ease his way through it with mantras like 'It's the same as a person going for a check-up' and 'This isn't a big deal, just get it over with, dummins' - but now, for no reason The Spine nor anyone could determine, it had become more than that. Accepting that he needed a mechanic to check he was still functioning was also acceptance of the fact that he was a machine. He didn't know why, but that seemed too much to bear as of late. For the last century, humanity had been something almost elusive; the grass seemed greener on the other side, as it were. It was an impossible conquest, and he knew it. Something had changed: whether it was an outside influence or something within him, he didn't know. It had become a need, an obsession; and, much as he hated it, he couldn't rid himself of the idea that life could be better if he was truly a man, rather than one made of metal.

The echo of a voice pulsed upwards towards him. "Spine-o! Come down, old man. I need your help!" Reluctantly, The Spine slid and swung his way towards the hole in which his body was kept safe. Awaiting the return of his head and spine, it was raised as though on a platform towards him. A number of robotic limbs clothed him once more, even as his mouth opened in a silent scream. The lack of oil in his systems made the transition increasing harrowing and unpleasant, yet the prospect of being unaccompanied made it worthwhile. The Hall of Wires was the only room in the manor with a door, and the combination of Qwerty and the eerie ambiance meant that it was, for the most part, left well alone. However, on this occassion - and, annoyingly for The Spine, on the day that he most wanted to be left to brood - Peter Walter VI stood with one foot over the threshold, peeking in around the door. Once his chassis was fully merged and connected, The Spine raised an eyebrow in askance. "What is it, Six?"

"Hey." Peter looked up, eyes blanky roaming the ceiling for an answer. "It's, um. It's Hatchworth." Both eyebrows shot up.

"What's wrong with Hatchy?"

"Nothing is wrong, per-se... more, uh, unusual. You'd better come with me, eh, Spine?"

"Sure-" he began, only to be cut off as he turned. Peter fumbled around his neck and switched him off, leaving him to fall unceremoniously onto the floor.

"Sorry, old man," he said in a low voice, before motioning for Rabbit to come in and peel her brother from the floor. Hatchworth emerged from behind the door, patting The Spine's hand comfortingly after Rabbit had flung him over her shoulder. "Time to go, bro," he smiled cheerlessly, before following the convoy along the corridor.

 

Rabbit hurried along, hefting her younger brother into a better position as he lay, unaware, over her shoulder and across her back. His hat had toppled from his head as he had been lifted; whilst his wig had been clipped into place and remained there, the fedora had fallen and Hatchworth, staying close to his siblings, carried it almost reverently. Peter, looking unconcerned, strolled along at the back.

Michael was waiting for them when they reached the laboratory. He smiled, opening his arms in way of greeting before setting to work strapping The Spine down. "I knew he'd not been in for a while, but I didn't realise he was actively avoiding it..." Michael mumbled, stepping away from the final strap which now wound itself around The Spine's right leg. "Thanks for telling us, Rabbit - I doubt he would have let on that something was up around me."

"Nah, Mike. You know what he's like, all s-stoic and that. He's usually so good at maintenance, but something's a little off with him at the mo, you know?"

"What is wrong with The Spine, Rabbit?" Hatchworth asked, eyes wide behind his glasses.

"I dunno, Hatchy. I sure hope it ain't no dame!" Rabbit exclaimed. Michael snorted, hands sheathed in The Spine's innards as he fumbled around, looking for the opening to his boiler. "Look at this, Pete! Poor guy is pretty much running on empty." Michael span around to fill a bottle from the sink as Peter peered into the cavernous chamber. Once the boiler was full, they took a can of oil each and worked on lubricating The Spine's joints.

"You ready, Mike?"

"Aw, c'mon, Petes! Just turn him on already!" Rabbit moaned. Michael laughed.

"Yeah dude, he's all set." Rabbit, already picking at the straps holding her brother down, ripped two off before Michael could finish his affirmation. Holding up her brother's head so that Peter could flick the switch, Rabbit tapped her foot anxiously. She knew The Spine would be confused and possibly angry when he awoke; she hoped it wouldn't be the latter. The initial hum-hiss of his systems began as he started up. Rabbit let go of his head when he was able to hold it upright himself. Hatchworth danced about nervously: although The Spine had not been badly injured or in any real danger, he was still concerned for him and the drama with which his repairs had been made only increased his panic.

Their brother sat up; his head twitched to the left twice, his hand flexed experimentally and he opened his eyes. "What happened? Why am I down here? Peter?" His voice was its normal honey-coated storm, due to the now-slick oil lines and water pipes. "I'm sorry, Spine. We had to give you your oil and water, as you've been neglecting to do so."

"We thought ya might put up a fight, Th'Spine." Rabbit added. For his part, The Spine looked both slightly affronted and admonished.

"I, uh. Thank you. I wouldn't have, you know." He glanced slyly at Rabbit. "I'm not a silly old bot just yet, I understand the necessity of repairs and upgrades." Glad that he was neither confused nor angry, Rabbit smiled smoothly and pretended to ignore the jest, screeching: "Did someb-body say summin', Michael? 'Cause I didn't hear nada."

"Me either, Rabbit. How about you, Hatchy?"

"The Spine did say something, I believe-"

"Nu-uh, Hatchy! Nothin'." Rabbit winked at Hatchworth, and he appeared to catch on, as he nodded his head twice and tried to return the wink. The Spine laughed at this, now fully sat up with his legs dangling from the side of the work table. From his new position, he spotted his fedora still gently clasped in Hatchworth's hands. "Hey, Hatchy? Would I be able to put my hat on, please?" Smoothing his hair self-consciously, his eyes lit up as he was passed the hat.

"There you go, The Spine."

"Thanks, brother."


	2. Chapter 2

The way the sun sunk and was replaced by inky darkness repulsed The Spine. It wasn't the sunset itself that was the issue - it was more what it represented that caused his dislike. Every day that passed was uncountable; his time could stretch out for eternity. He would, for sure, outlive his human friends - and, perhaps, even his robotic ones.

Rolling onto his side before sitting up, he stood to close the curtains. Blocking out the last rays of sunlight, The Spine stretched as he blinked wearily. Although his oil and water levels were much improved, there were other issues which had yet to be dealt with. The tremors in his limbs remained; he hadn't wanted to worry or irk his friends by telling them that he'd been hiding more than simple problems from them. Pulling idly at the fingers of his right hand with those of his left, he sat once more on the bed, eyes unfocused in contemplation.

"You know we gotta talk about this at some point, r-right Th'Spine?" Rabbit pulled her younger brother from his thoughts, his head twisting too quickly to look at her in shock. "You spooked me there a little, Rabbit." He smiled reassuringly, ignoring the question in favour of tracing an upturned palm with a pointed finger. Rabbit's hands found her hips in seconds. "Spine. Bro. I did not stalk you all the way up here for you to evade my questions."

"What do you want, Rabbit?" Photoreceptors brimming with fatigue finally met the mismatched optics belonging to his sister. Hands falling limply to her sides, Rabbit couldn't keep eye contact for long. His eyes were pained: years of existing in a titanium alloy shell, a century of war and the resulting nightmares culminated in and were expressed through a solitary gaze. "I j-just wanna know what's wrong, Spine!"

"Nothing is wrong, Rabbit. I'm fine."

"That's a load of hooey and you know it!" The bed dipped as her considerable weight nestled down beside him. Turning his head sharply towards her, The Spine exhaled heavily. "Maybe- maybe something is wrong. I'm honestly not sure what, though."

"Hmph. Weird." Two eyes, one green and other other blue, spun to stare at him. However, as he was busy appearing to be deeply interested in his shoes, he missed the implications of the action. "Yeah," he murmured. "Very odd indeed."

"Wanna talk about it? Like, describe how y-ya feel an' that?"

"I don't have feelings, Rabbit. I don't need them. 'M just a robot." The words were meant as a joke, but they came out filled with emotion, and The Spine cursed his inability to keep Rabbit safe from the swirling void of negativity that he was rapidly becoming. "Ya ain't just no tin man, Th'Spine! A'course you got feelin's."

"I know, I know. It just doesn't feel that way sometimes."

"That sure don't mean that you don't have to l-look after yourself."

"I know," he repeated, steam from his vents curling protectively around the pair. Rabbit scooted closer, her arm wrapping firmly around his shoulders.

"It's okay to not be okay sometimes."

"Thanks." His head fell onto her shoulder, and they sat in companionable silence for an indeterminable amount of time. Tiny sparks shuddered their way up his spine; small misfires that he was becoming accustomed to, but still made him flinch. Trying to stay still, so as not to cause Rabbit any unnecessary reason to worry or to preach at him, his booted feet came together in a minor expression of discomfort.

"C'mon, Spine. How about we find Hatchy, and then you can read us 'The Old Man and the Sea', eh?"

"You guys hate that book. It is a little boring..."

"Want me to tell a story?"

"Please."

 

Leaning back, spines retracted, on the largest chair in the manor, The Spine let his eyes close in contentment. Hatchworth was sat beside his feet, as attentive as a small puppy awaiting a treat. Rabbit's dramatic tones filled the room, ensaring her brothers into the story. Unlike the others, she remained standing: her movements restless as she paced, arms and fingers wiggling expressively as she spoke. The stars glittered outside; the windows were open and a strange sense of hope was overflowing into the garden. The gentle hum of noise rose in a flurry of murmured resonance - the humming of internal mechanical workings, bubbling of boilers and slow plumes of steam evaporating into the air.

Michael, stood outside with Steve, looked in and smiled. "Cute," he whispered. Steve snorted.

"Yeah, freakin' adorable."

"Shall we leave them be?"

"Yeah. Let's go, we can tell 'em later." They made their way to the kitchen slowly, looping around the laboratories to avoid the bustling Walter Workers that would continue in full swing late into the night. As so many residents were much like Peter Walter VI, and thus rarely remembered to turn up for meals, being too devoted to their assignments, they all fended for themselves in terms of dinner. Often, the robots liked to join them, and they appreciated the company; today, however, they weren't keen on interrupting their strange but sweet storytelling.

Matt was already seated when they arrived. Happily chomping down a sandwich, he lifted the corner of his mouth in a clumsy smile as a form of greeting. He swallowed. "Hey."

"'Sup, buddy?" Matt simply waved his free hand, the other occupied with his food, as he returned to eating. Michael pulled up a stool and sat next to him, idly tracing a coffee stain with both hands. He could hear Steve rustling around in one of the fridges - he hoped that it was one containing edible food, not mechanical parts that 'needed to be kept cold, honestly'. Shuffling the chair in closer to the counter, he noticed a small metal lamp lying next to Matt's hand. Eyes squinting in interest, he waited for Matt to finish the first half of his sandwich before asking, "What's that?"

"What? Oh, this. I don't know. Peter V gave it to me, and told me to keep it safe. Said he was going to be too-" he paused, mouth pulling into a frown as he prepared to deepen his voice, "'Too occupied with Annie to worry about trivial matters such as this, dear Matthew.' Whatever that means."

"Oh. Odd." Michael's squint turned from one of intrigue to one of confusion, but Matt was already busy devouring the remains of his meal.

Effectively pulling Michael out of his speculation, Steve, voice strangled, called out: "Hey, Mike, wanna give me a hand here, dude?" Sliding off the seat, Michael laughed as he saw a chrome hand reaching out from the third fridge, grasping onto a handful of coloured dreadlocks. Together, they tried to pry the metal fingers from Steve's hair. Quickly realising that their tugs were achieving nothing, Michael decided cutting the few remaining dreads away was their only option. Steve, unsurprisingly, refused.

Rabbit and Hatchworth, having left The Spine powered down in one of the living rooms, walked in to see Michael waving a pair of scissors dangerously near to Steve's face. Matt looked on, face deteminedly blank, as he held in laughter and stayed well out of the way. Grinning, Rabbit left Hatchworth with Matt on the sidelines as she dove in, eyes and mouth taut with restrained giggles. "My, my, honey," she cooed, beckoning to the disembodied hand. "There ain't no need to play rough now, is there?" Finally freeing Steve's dreadlocks, the hand drooped, looking ashamed. "Yeah, that's better," she continued, her voice the light scold of a teacher talking fondly to a child. Steve nodded his thanks before unsuccessfully trying the next two fridges. Michael turned to the robots, both of whom now stood gazing at him expectantly. He remembered the scissors. "Oh!" Hastily putting them down, he distracted them with the news.

"I wanted to tell you all together, but I imagine The Spine will be out for a while now. Jon left us a note earlier. He's coming home for Chr- Yulemas!"


	3. Chapter 3

Hatchworth, overwhelmed with exitement, had to sit down. After his time in the vault, his family had become even more dear to him than before: their disembodied voices had been the only comfort available to him whilst contained. He used to imagine how they'd look, clustered around the door in a heap, Jon sat on The Spine's knee as he and Rabbit took it in turns telling stories and singing songs. They would tell him about what was going on outside, and even if there was little to say, knowing they were there soothed him a great deal. The silence when they'd gone to war was unbearable; he'd had no company but his thoughts for years, and the fear that his brothers might never return. It was because of this that he missed The Jon's presence in the manor most keenly - as happy as he was that he got to travel, the old terror of being alone crept upon him often. Jon's visits were never scheduled, and the surprise of seeing him sometimes brought Hatchworth's processors to the verge of overloading.

Rabbit, having noticed Hatchworth's widened eyes and twitchy legs, manoeuvred herself behind the chair he sat on as a means of grounding him. He smiled gratefully, patting her hand as well as the angle they were joined at allowed.

"D'ya know when, Mista' Reed?"

"I'm afraid it just said 'soon', Rabbit. 'Before Yulemas. Soon'", he recited from memory, eyebrows furrowing in thought.

"I am excited, Rabbit. Can we go and tell The Spine?" Hatchworth looked up hopefully. She smiled warmly.

"S-sure thing, buddy! We'd better check if he's awake first, though - y'know how grumpy he gets when we wake him up."

"That is a good point."

 

They found The Spine still slumped on the recliner, hat tilted down over his eyes. Rabbit tip-toed towards him, stage-whispering "Shh!" at Hatchworth as she snuck closer. She'd planned to rouse him loudly, and then use the news about The Jon as a means of deferring his annoyance. However, when she pulled the hat up, she saw that his eyes were open and flickering, and small puddles of oil pooled in the corners of each. Leaping back from the sight of Rabbit towering over him, he fell off the chair and onto the carpet. Using his new position on the floor to hide his face, he hurriedly wiped his eyes; he'd been so engrossed in his thoughts that he hadn't heard his siblings enter the room. Standing up slowly, legs shaking, he met Rabbit's eyes. She nodded. Unsure as she was that she hadn't imagined his tears, she wouldn't tell anyone or tease him about it. Pleased, he stepped forward and whispered a hurried "Thank you" in her ear before turning to Hatchworth.

"Heya, Hatchy! How are you doing, buckaroo?"

"We did not mean to scare you, The Spine."

"I'm fine now, Hatchy, just was a little surprised to see that-" he jabbed a thumb in Rabbit's direction, "leaning over me when I woke up."

"H-hey!"

"Break it up, you two," Hatchworth interjected, waggling a finger. "We came to share the good news. The Jon is coming home for the holidays!"

"Well, fellas," The Spine beamed, "I think it's time for a celebration, don't 'cha agree?"

"The Spine, you took the words right out of my hand!"

"H-hatchy... it's outta ya' mouth, dummins."

"Can we throw him a party, The Spine?" Although Rabbit was the oldest, Hatchworth trusted The Spine to make the serious decisions, such as those regarding parties.

"I think that is a tip-top idea, Hatchy."

"With sandwiches? And quesadillas for Jon?"

"And ice-cream?" Rabbit added.

"You guys do know we don't eat, right... Sure. Okay. We'll have whatever you guys want, alright?"

"Gee, t-thanks Th'Spine!"

At this, The Spine's bright smile slipped slightly. He forced his mouth to recreate it; although it wasn't natual, it worked well enough. "Thank you, Rabbit," he said, squeezing her shoulder affectionately.

"Can we go and plan it now, The Spine?"

"Of course, Hatchworth. Of course."

 

The Spine supervised whilst his siblings lay on the floor, Rabbit making lists with an inky pen and Hatchworth making a laboriously scribbled 'Welcome Home' card. He hummed softly under his breath, sat on the carpet beside them. Idly toying with the crayons scattered across the ground, he listened to the others chatting eagerly about Jon's return. He smiled; he hadn't felt this relaxed in months. Shuffling closer to Hatchworth, he slung an arm over his younger brother's shoulder. Unused to such blatant affection from The Spine, Hatchworth snuggled as close as he could without disturbing his colouring. Rabbit whined: she wanted to try to be as stoic as The Spine usually was, and look as mature as her title as the eldest suggested she was; however, her brother was rarely so forward and cuddly, so she decided to make the most of it by rolling over to his other side and leaning against him. It comforted her to see him so happy - as fine as he may have seemed as of late, she knew that his ability to hide his problems from everyone was unparalleled due to a century of practice.

Realising how late it had become, The Spine suggested that they all sleep downstairs together. He hadn't stayed in the same room as his siblings when they'd powered down since Vietnam - the nightmares had been too obvious to hide from them, and he was dispirited at the idea of allowing the others to see how much both his and their suffering had affected him. Although it wasn't necessary, Rabbit rushed off to gather a pile of blankets and duvets when The Spine proposed the idea. At her excitement, he pushed away any niggling doubts about how the potential for bad dreams might impact his relationship with his family. Assuring himself that everything would be fine, he helped Hatchworth tidy up the collateral damage from their activities. Whilst his little brother jiggled restlessly, waiting for Rabbit to return, The Spine pushed the chairs and tables as far to the edges of the room as they would go. As he finished, dusting his hands off on his trousers for emphasis, Rabbit came back: buried under a mound of bedding, she tried to dump it on the ground, but ended up falling on top of it in the process. Laughing, the trio arranged their blankets and The Spine tucked Hatchworth in as Rabbit turned to do the same. To compromise, The Spine let Rabbit tuck him in for the first time since he was less than a few weeks old. She beamed. Leaning forward, she kissed both of her brothers on the forehead; Hatchworth giggled and The Spine squirmed, but neither of them complained.

 

Roughly seven floors below the robots, Matt crept along a dark corridor, a small metal object stuffed in his pocket. He'd been looking for Peter V since his hasty dinner, and had had no luck so far. The manor was strangely deserted - although The Spine or Rabbit would sometimes go for walks late at night, it wasn't too unusual to see no mechanical beings. The quiet was what truly disturbed him: there were no bangs exploding through the halls, no workers taking hurried strides and mumbling to themselves.

However, there was a faint blue glow framing a door up ahead. Thinking he'd reached the Hall of Wires, Matt started to head back down the way he had come. A few steps along, he paused. Whilst the HoW was the only room with a door, the light from the inside should be red rather than a ghostly blue. His head cocked to the left. A quiet chuckle and the scraping of metal convinced him to give in to his curiosity. He crept forwards, inched the door open, and, leaning onto his toes until he almost overbalanced, popped his head into the room.


	4. Chapter 4

The glow became more dense the further into the room Matt looked. He was hardly able to make out the silhouettes of the people clustered about the work bench in the centre. Rapidly realising that this was not the Hall of Wires, his steps - which had been hastened by his increasing curiosity - began to wane as he got closer. Eyes watering in the bright light, he blinked.

Two figures were stood shoulder to shoulder, facing away from Matt as he approached. Wafts of cloud-like blue lit the room like a lava lamp: it varied between forms, flicking between solid, liquid and gas. Veils of cyan fog spun between walls and over their heads as they spoke, voices low but animated.

Although Matt had basic training in how to maintain and repair the robots, his primary job was drumming. The only time he'd had to help fix them had been at a show when their war mode had been activated - other than that, he hung out at the mansion, but he didn't live there like some of the more dedicated workers. Some nights, he would stay and sleep in one of the rooms that the Walters couldn't really afford to keep. This meant that he had very little knowledge of what went on in the laboratories - especially during the hours so late they were early, as he was rarely there. Due to his inexperience, Matt didn't realise what was going on until it was too late.

 

Michael Reed, one-man-band and lover of cowboy boots, was pulled from his dreams suddenly when there was a loud explosion somewhere below him. Tracing the noise itself was difficult - the house was far too large for him to pinpoint one specific bang. Writing it off as nothing more than an experiment gone wrong, he rolled over and easily fell asleep again.

 

Steve Negrete, on the other hand, was a notoriously light sleeper. Having been the butt of one too many jokes whilst he slept, he had taught himself to react to the slightest movement and quietest noise. He leapt out of bed, taking the duvet with him in his haste. Although the blast hadn't sounded too dangerous, and it was likely that nobody had been hurt because of it, he decided that as he was now up anyway he may as well go and investigate.

Dropping the duvet back on the bed as he stood, he thumped his way out of his room. It was only then that he realised he had no source of sound to follow - the noise, whilst loud, had been quick: the peal of a doorbell rather than the continous thudding of a drum. Steve shrugged. He doubted that he'd be able to sleep again until his curiosity had been assuaged. Decision made, he headed towards where he thought the bang had originated.

 

The Spine had never shut down. Not wanting to deal with the nightmares that plagued him in front of the others, he'd chosen to just lie there. Despite his strange thoughts and emotions as of late, he was still comforted by his family. He'd murmured gentle words to his siblings as they had gone into stasis, his voice calming as they fell asleep. And then, after listening to their systems ticking over for precisely three hours, forty-four minutes and twelve seconds (as divulged by his internal clock), he heard something.

The blast resonated upwards; vibrations pulsed through the house. Cocking his head to the side, The Spine determined the approximate location of the disturbance. He sat up carefully, not wanting to disturb Rabbit or Hatchworth.

As cosy as it was in the nest they'd constructed, The Spine had been staring into the darkness for hours - the thought of breaking the monotony by stretching his abnormally long legs was, to him, a pleasant one. Slowly, he pushed himself up onto his arms. Pulling his legs under him, he stood up; trying not to jostle the others as he rose, he moved as though he didn't have full control of his limbs - his arms and legs shook as he desperately worked to dislodge them from their space under the pile of duvets.

Thirteen minutes later, he was free. Gently tucking his siblings back into their bed where he'd moved the covers slightly, he smiled down at them. He wouldn't change them for the world, despite their annoying habits and ability to irk him. He figured they were much like human siblings in that respect - unconditional love sprinkled with irritation and bouts of not-quite hatred.

His data banks had recorded the exact origin of the explosion. As he stepped through the empty doorframe quietly, he spun to find Steve Negrete. Steam was expelled through his vents more rapidly than normal in his surprise. He stepped back.

"Jesus, Spine!" Steve growled, eyebrows raising as he leapt away from the robot.

"Good..." he paused. Checked his internal clock. "Morning. Good morning to you, too, Steve."

"You look exhausted. How is that even possible?"

"Thanks." The Spine looked down, tight-lipped.

"Sorry."

"No, it's okay. What're you doing down here?"

"I heard something. Why are you up? I thought you were having a cosy night in with the others."

"I was. I heard it, too."

"Oh. Do you know where it came from?"

"I do. Follow me." The Spine led Steve at such a brisk pace that the human could hardly keep up, despite his fit physique. Most of the halls were cloaked in darkness; all Steve could see of The Spine was the gentle glow of his optics, and the silver streak of his hands as they swung alongside his body. At the odd intervals when they passed wide windows, open to deter the balmy quality of the night, his face would shine for a moment, before once more becoming masked in black.

Due to his inhumanely long legs, and as a result of them, his speed, The Spine was the first to notice the glow leaking out from around the door ahead. Low vibrations hummed through the floorboards, the slight movement not dissimilar to the way his chassis felt when he was powered down. Three more steps took him up to the door. It was ajar. He pushed it open; the light oozed over him, englufing his mechanical frame in colour. Before inching into the room, he turned to look for Steve. But the light was too bright, the contrast against the darkness too great: the corridor behind him was too black, the opening ahead too white. The door swung open, enticing him in. Hesitantly, he stepped forwards.

 

Steve rounded the final corner hurriedly. Feet pounding on the floor heavily, he arrived too late to spare time on confusion over the presence of the door itself or the light. The Spine, ahead of him, sank to his knees. Yet they did not make such a noise as one would suppose they should; the heavy metal seemed to make no impact upon the comparatively delicate wooden floor. Propelled forwards by concern for his friend, Steve pelted towards The Spine.

Fast as he may have been, Steve did not reach him in time. Dragged forwards as though by an invisible force, the robot was sucked into the room; and the door shut on Steve Negrete.


	5. Chapter 5

The pounding in Matt's head was second only to the thumping of dying energy thudding through the room. He'd fallen as the blue matter blast had knocked him back, his head cracking on the floor as his consciousness had left him. The two figures in the room had become silhouetted against the light, dark and terrifying in contrast. One was of a hideous shape, greatly disfigured and abnormally built next to the slighter man. As Matt had slumped to the ground, the larger of the pair had fallen too; he writhed, and in the confusion an oven mitt had slipped from his hand.

 

The Spine was crying. As of late, admittedly, he'd been doing rather more of that than he cared to acknowledge - but this was a different type of crying. No event could cause such an emotional outburst as would be necessary to bring about these shrieking sobs, save, perhaps, the death of his loved ones. No, this was physical pain: the ripping of metal skin from metal bones, oil lines frayed and torn and broken. Hydraulic fluid seeped from between cracked face plates as he was pulled, head-first, into the melee. It was fire and ice: he was burning as he froze, his body encased, enveloped, by flame; yet his core was cold with fear, eyes searching for a cause, and explanation - anything to give him some sort of optimism, or at the very least, an answer. His tears were animalistic, dragged from his photoreceptors and vocal box without consent. Everything hurt. Slim curliques of steel peeled themselves back from his forearms, his legs, his hands; they curled like the ribbon adorning the presents, hidden in his room. Encompassed by the light, The Spine collapsed. A shrill screech sounded in his audio receptors, rattling through his processors with the desperation of a dying man. As he passed out, The Spine could think only that the brightness was like that of fairy lights. It was a light of hope.

 

Moving unnoticed, the shorter of the silhouettes went to slip out of the room. He had no need to scrabble against the door, for it opened easily, with no more than a touch of a pale hand, finger-tips tinted green. However, as soon as he relinquished it to slink through the gap, he was sucked back into the room. His head, with unnerving force, connected with the far wall. The body slid to the ground. He was dead.

 

Steve, unable to stand for more than a minute in a state of indecisive quandary, hurried away from the room. He had tried to open the door, but to no avail; so he left, as he felt he needed the aid of Rabbit - and her flame-thrower.

Reaching the library the robots had powered down in, he flung himself into their nest and yelled at them. They came around too slowly. It was no different than usual, but to him every tired, clumsy blink of photoreceptors built up in Steve an even greater need to hurry. "W-w-w-wh-wh-what'sa matter, S-Steve?" Rabbit stumbled over the words, still in the process of powering up. Hatchworth's glasses had slipped across his face, but he made no move to correct their position as he sat up. "Steve. What is it? What is going on?"   
"W-where's Th'Spine?"   
"I do not know, Rabbit. He was here when we fell asleep, yes?"   
"Yes, Hatchy! But he s-sure ain't now!"   
"Shut up, you guys! You need to come with me. Now."   
"Why?" Both robots chorused, standing in sync.   
"I'll explain on the way. Come on!"

Steve spoke excitedly as they powered back to the room. Unable to move as quickly as he desired, Steve had leapt upon Rabbit's shoulders as he directed the robots along corridors, down staircases and through vast, shadowed hallways. The pair were unnaturally quiet as they listened, silent as they wondered over what was going on. When Steve described what had happened to their brother, the silence was broken by an angry, stuttered exclamation. "Oh h-h-hold up there, b-buddy, you do not hurt my l-lil' brotha!" Despite the tense situation, Steve grinned.

As sure as he was that they'd returned to the place The Spine had disappeared from, there was no longer any light filtering into the empty passageway. The door, however, remained. Rabbit, with Hatchworth stood looking on in awe behind her, eagerly yanked her jaw open and burnt down the scrap of wood stopping her from finding her younger brother. Kicking away the blackened remains, she sped into the room.

The edges of the walls, once a crisp, clean white, were dripping with black-blue bile. Before, there had been a large table stood proudly in the centre of the room; now, the middle of it had been blown away, leaving two legs on either side holding up a shattered quart each, with the help of the floor. Matt lay on the floor, blood slowly trickling down his face from a cut on his head. Norman Becile was across from him. He appeared unharmed, save for the fact that he had been knocked out.

Steve ran over to Matt. Concerned about moving him, he knelt by him and waited for him to come round, whilst trying to inspect the damage done to his head through the blood and matted hair. Hatchworth, on the other hand, was busy inspecting a strange man, lying on the floor. His blonde hair was disheveled, and blood seeped from a large, gaping wound on the back of his head. His eyes, pale blue fading to yellow in the middle, were open and unseeing. Rabbit's attention was elsewhere.

She couldn't see The Spine anywhere. Steve had been sure that this was the right room, and the devastation suggested that it was. Becoming panicked, she backed up against the remnants of the door she had entered through - and stood on something that groaned as her foot connected with it. Instinctively, she raised her leg and turned to peer down at the thing on the floor.

It wasn't The Spine, whilst Rabbit had deeply wished that it would be, though the moan had sounded very much the same as one of his agitated grumbles. It was another stranger, collapsed on the ground and now staring in horror at his broken fingers. This one was awake, and, similarly to Norman, seemed uninjured. He had dark hair, swept back; and Rabbit was unsure as to whether his pallor was natural or due to shock. Shifting slightly, he tried to push himself up. Rabbit, remorseful over breaking his hand, moved to help him. He was shaking; he couldn't lift himself and fell back until Rabbit caught him. Hefting him up, she helped him over to where Matt lay and propped him up against the wall. He smiled gratefully, and nodded, unable to speak. Then his eyes widened. He looked down at his hands again.

"Rabbit..."   
"H-how d'ya know ma name?"   
"Uh, Rabbit, what do you mean?"  
"I'm s-serious! Who are you?"   
"Steve. What's the matter with Rabbit?"   
"H-How do you know Steve's name? Where's The Spine? What did you do to Matt and Norman?" The man looked uneasy, his eyes unfocused in confusion.   
"Rabbit, I am The Spine..." As his voice trailed off, he changed his grip on his hand. Looking down at it, his gaze turned to one of confusion. Eyes, too bright and clear a green to be those of a human, winced in pain as his fingers, lying loosely in his careful grip, throbbed. His hand wasn't silver. Eyebrows furrowed, he raised it to eye level. "Uhh," he mumbled. No, his hand was not metal; it was flesh.

"Th-Tha' Spine? Really?" But The Spine was too busy inspecting his new skin to answer. Steve, still waiting for Matt to wake up, spun to see Rabbit supporting a human who bore a troubling resemblance to her brother. "Jesus Christ," he sighed, walking over to them. "Spine?"   
"Hello, Steve..." Still precoccupied, he didn't even look up.   
"Why are you human? How did that even happen, damnit?"  
"I- I don't know. It hurt. My hand hurts, still. Is it meant to be all," he poked it, and winced, "floppy?"  
"No, Spine." Steve rolled his eyes. Used to oddities in the Manor, Steve dealt with most unusual occurrences by just accepting them.

Hatchworth toddled towards his siblings. "What is going on? Where is The Spine? I cannot see him."   
"Da-Da Spine is human, Hatchy." Rabbit, still holding her brother up, sat down next to him.   
"Thanks." He leant against her. "You're hard." Rabbit snorted. "Oh, you know what I mean," he cajoled. Hatchworth, still more concerned than Steve when strange things happened, stepped backwards. "But how can you be The Spine? He is a robot. You are a man."   
"I don't know, Hatchy." His voice was still the same as it was before, which comforted Hatchworth slightly. He was not an entirely new being: he was The Spine, just no longer made of metal. "I'm human," he smiled, pulling up the legs of his trousers with his right hand to inspect more of his new body. "I don't know how it happened, but," he squeezed his sister's arm excitedly, "I'm real!"

 

Slowly waking, Matt leant up to figure out what was going on. He could see a blonde figure on the floor in front of him, but his vision was too hazy for him to recognise the person. His body felt wrong: too big, and too heavy. The Spine, glancing up from his new form, noticed movement on the other side of the room. He tried to get up to help them, but his legs fell out from underneath him; he was far too unstable, as of yet, to move. Rabbit helped him sit back down before going over to aid them herself. Matt managed to prop himself up on one arm, and surveyed the area directly in front of him. He remembered a blinding light, a brief but sharp moment of pain, but nothing else. A shape swam in front of his vision. With some squinting and a slight shake of his head, Matt could make out a copper tone colouring whatever was in front of him. He cocked his head in askance. The thing crouched down, put a hand on his arm, and looked into his eyes. "Are you okay, Norman?" Rabbit asked.


	6. Chapter 6

Matt looked at what he was now almost entirely sure was Rabbit. His vision was skewed; he couldn't comprehend what was wrong, but he knew for sure that something was. He touched a hand to his forehead, yet he could feel no trace of a cut - although he'd been sure his head had been hurt prior to his collapse. His fingers felt off, too: holding them in front of them, he tried to have a look, but Rabbit caught his hand in hers and held onto it. Cooing softly, she pulled him into a hug. "Oooh, N-Norman. That's quite the bump on your head, buddy."

Matt, at last more alert, met her eyes. "Norman? Why do you keep calling me Norman?"  
"Because you are Norman, silly."  
"No, I'm not. I'm Matt."

Even as he spoke, he noticed a change in his voice, and the way in which it felt to speak. Rabbit, firm grip holding him steady, stared at him in confusion. "N-no, no way, dude. Matt's over there, by Spine. See?" She helped him turn to face the pair, one leant against the wall and the other lying alongside it, eyes shut. He turned away too quickly. Although it made his head throb, it was far preferable to observing himself, lying unconscious on the other side of the room.

The Spine, unnoticed by his sister, limped over with Hatchworth's help to where she sat. Hatchworth looked a little dubious as to whether or not he should be aiding him, but he liked to think that his brother was still very much capable of making decisions, even in his current state. He was squishier, now. Hatchworth didn't very much like it - he felt as though he could be broken, and a vulnerable Spine meant the whole family lacked a backbone.* He couldn't even walk without help! Nonetheless, he seemed happy, so Hatchworth trudged on, supporting The Spine's considerably lesser weight. It would, if anything, have been easier to simply pick him up and carry him over - but he definitely had doubts about doing that. He really couldn't imagine it going over well with his big brother.

Hatchworth helped a wobbly Spine settle himself beside Rabbit, before sitting on his other side, so they could prop him up if necessary. The Spine, too elated by his new body to care about how much help he needed to even move around, smiled his thanks and gave Hatchworth's hand a grateful squeeze. Together, they turned to look at the drama unfurling along from them.

"I know... I know it looks like I'm there. But I'm here, Rabbit! That's not me. But I guess it is? What's happened? Why do I have lobster fingers? Why do you keep calling me Norman? Wait. Fingers... Norman. Did I swap bodies with Norman?"  
"What the hecky doodle is goin' on over there?" The Spine whispered to Hatchworth. He shrugged.  
"Spine!" Matt clawed his way out of Rabbit's arms, and faced him. "Okay. You sound like him, but you are not The Spine. But then... I'm not me, so maybe you are you, just... not?" 

"Sounds about right to me," smiled The Spine.  
"So... you're M-M-Matt, in Norman's b-body?"  
"Yep. Well, I think so. Oh, that's weird. That's so, so weird. And Spine is a human? When did that happen?"  
"I imagine it occurred at the same time you and Norman switched bodies," said The Spine, leaning heavily on Hatchworth. His hand jolted slightly with every small movement, causing tremors of pain to catch him off guard often. Tears would gather in his eyes every time this happened, but he blinked rapidly to keep them at bay; his joy was too great to let the pain ruin a monumental miracle.

"So that means that Norman is in Matt's body, yes, The Spine?" Hatchworth looked down at him, slumped against his chassis as he was; this only added to Hatchworth's unease regarding the whole situation, as The Spine usually towered over everybody.  
"Possibly, Hatchy. But he could've switched with someone else."  
"There is only one other person in here, The Spine. And he is not doing too well at all."  
"Who else is in here?" Steve interjected.  
"That man. I do not know who he is." Hatchworth, clumsily trying to support his brother, shuffled around and pointed to the stranger. Steve marched over, side-stepping around Matt's body, and cementing his foot in blood; it had started to congeal, and ran from the man's head in a steady stream across the floor. Head cocked in confusion, Steve reported back to the others: "No, guys, I've never seen him before. What'd he be doing in one of our labs?"  
"What's been going on in this lab, anyhow?" The Spine muttered. His raised eyebrow was minimally less impressive than when it had taken shape on his robotic face.

Matt's body, which had previously been unresponsive, began to stir. Matt, looking out of Norman's strange Picasso-esque eyes, implored that one of them go and see who was currently him. As both of the robots were required to remain supporting their less physically stable friends, Steve elected to leave the identification (of what he was certain was a dead body) until later.

"Well, Matt, it's definitely you alright."  
"Yeah, but is it awake?" Matt's eyes blinked out of sync. His lobster fingers twitched. He longed for the coverage usually provided by the oven glove Norman wore.  
"He's gettin' there. Oh, we have lift off!" Whomever was in Matt's body made it sit up, touching a hand to its head woozily.  
"These hands..." it said. Matt cringed.  
"Is that what I sound like?"  
"Y-yeah, dummins. Now shush!" Rabbit stage-whispered, gaze focused on Matt's body.  
"I don't feel right. Why don't I feel like a horrifying monster?"  
"Norman, buddy? That you in there?"  
"I... yes. I'm Norman. But these hands are not my own!"  
"They're Matt's. He's you, y-you're him, chum." Rabbit titled her head. "That sure is confusing."  
"It didn't work," Norman whispered, voice pained. "It did, but it wasn't supposed to be like this!"  
"Uhh, Norman? What do you mean?" Steve knelt down beside him.  
"We- we were trying to make it right, for me, for The Spine... did it work for him, or is that twisted, too?"  
"I'm here, Norman. Did you do this?" The Spine held his pale, human hands out so that they caught the light, but Norman buried his face in his forearms, crossed over his knees, and began to wail. Unintelligible words spewed from his mouth, muffled by sobs. He held his bare arms before him, lifting his head so that he could see. "This is what I have dreamed of for so long," he choked. "But not... not like this. Never like this."  
"Norman," The Spine prompted. "What do you mean? What did you do?" Bloodshot eyes, reddened and sensitive from too many tears and much angry, hasty rubbing, finally looked up for long enough to make eye contact with The Spine.

"Spine, old friend. I see some good has come of this... I am thankful, at least, for that. These tears of mine should be of joy, rather than sorrow; but I never wished to steal a healthy body from another. Now poor Matt is stuck in my loathesome form, and without Buster he may never be freed. Is he here? Did he run? Is he... dead? I did not see what became of him during the explosion. I shall begin at the beginning: please, if you will, hear me out. My intentions were only good, and true - I must assure you of that.  
  
"I know, in this unusual home, I do not appear overtly out of place. However, I am terribly limited by the terrifying state of my body. I have Wanda's love, which is - well, all I really do have. And I do love her, in return; yet I fear I cannot give her all of myself, when I look like... that." He gestured, with a notably human hand, to Matt. "I had proposed to conduct a series of experiments, to see if I could harness the power of blue matter to change myself. I wanted to reclaim my former glory: even my mind, though not as greatly altered as my shape, suffered because of the blast. It quickly became apparent that I would be in need of help, and I knew that neither Peter would be willing to offer me theirs, based on previous events and, of course, Six's... mishap. I made the mistake of asking for the aid of the Becile's. I had not bargained on getting to meet Buster in person, but he decided to help me himself. I see now that I had due cause to be suspicious - what would he gain from this endeavour? - but at the time I was fuelled by lust for a human form. 

"I realised that I could make this of use to somebody else in the Manor. The Spine, although initially reserved around me, - with, might I add, good reason - has always been nothing but kind. Spine, I'm sorry to be the one to inform you of this, but..."

"But what, Norman?" The Spine, unusually agitated, snapped. Norman, visibily affronted, continued.

"Everyone knows about your desire to be more human. By that, I mean, the uh. The makeup." Norman shifted slightly, eyes dropping to stare at the space in front of his feet. The Spine opened his mouth. Closed it. Then proceeded to continue with this loop as Norman carried out the rest of his narrative.

"I thought that if I was changing one body, I could just as well change two. Although my structure is still organic, the end product would be of the same basis - so I told Becile of this, and he agreed that it would be a nice thing to do. But I am still unsure as to why he would want to help you, Spine... or me."

"To get us prepared for our transformations, Becile would put miniscule quantities of the potions we conconcted into our beverages: mine with consent, but yours without. If it had gone wrong... but it did not. Forgive me, Spine; I meant no harm. However, this illicit act may be the cause of your odd mood swings. If they have been observed by me, surely they have had more of an effect on you than you would care to let on?"

The Spine, staring dumbly at Norman, nodded.

"It is my theory, formed rather recently, in fact-" he smiled, ever so slightly, for the first time since he awoke. "It is my theory that the mistake - the explosion - forced the experiment to reach a peak. Our work has been slow - Becile could not be seen, so we would work under the cover of night. Not that night is much of a cover, here. But I imagine that the heat, a bi-product of the explosion, worked as a catalyst, and brought the effects of our work to the surface. Only, as it was still a prototype, and thus nowhere near ready - it worked for The Spine, but it simply switched my body with that of another's. And now, we are... here."

He took a long breath, blew it out slowly, and turned to contemplating his fingers.

"But I t-th-thought you was h-happy, Norman!" Rabbit exclaimed. There was altogether too much information to be taken in at once, so she began with the parts that could be easily explained and simplified. "I was, for a while. It was far nicer here than working for the Becile's, at any rate. I do wish I had not thought it was my only option, to return to that position. It does grate on you, though, after a while. It's fine with all of you, but anywhere else would see me as... a monster." Norman sighed. The Spine looked up. He could resonate with that, and whilst he had been angry, for a time, over the way he had gone behind their backs, he was sure that Norman had, truly, had his heart in the right place. (Metaphorically. He was also certain that Norman's heart, in his own body, was nowhere near the place established as correct by biologists.)

"I- thank you, Norman. I mean, the weird emotions threw me off for a while there, but I'm glad to understand them now, at least. And, um. Thank you for..." he gestured, with his uninjured hand, to his new body. "This. I did want it. I just didn't realise quite how much until now." Timidly, he smiled.

"That's great, guys, but what do we do about Matt?" Steve asked, hands on hips.  
"Well, Steve, I have an idea," Rabbit smirked, almost bouncing in faux-excitement. She turned to face The Spine. "Say, Spine, buddy. D'ya r-remember that little Marie Curie Chemistry Set I had, b-back in the day?"  
"No, Rabbit, I sure don't." He tried to glare frostily at her, but a smile broke through the facade.  
"Well, no. And what about the elephant in the room?"  
"Elephant? Where?" Chorused Rabbit and Hatchworth. The Spine, for the first time with human hands, face-palmed.  
"I think Steve is referring to that man over there, who is probably Buster Becile."  
"Thanks, Spine."  
"Why, you're most welcome, Steve."  
"No, for real. What do we do with him?"  
"Dump him in the p-p-p-pond!"  
"No, Rabbit," deadpanned The Spine at the same time Steve and Matt yelled it.

"Let Peter deal with it, I suppose. It's his house, we're just commodities, really."  
"I t-take offense to that s-s-s-statement. Besides, you're not so much one anymore, Spine. How'd'ya forget it already, pal?" Rabbit's side-eye intensified.  
"I'm a bit overwhelmed, Rabbit. At any rate, it's probably the least of our worries right now."  
"So we shall go and find Peter the Sixth, yes?" Hatchworth piped up.  
"Tip-top idea, Hatchy," nodded The Spine, right before he passed out.

 

The Spine came to in his own bed. Prior to this, it had been a form of decoration rather than a necessity. Rabbit had handed Matt to Hatchworth, despite his protestations that once he was used to a more mutated body, he'd be fine; she'd declared that as the eldest, she had to be the one to carry her little brother upstairs.

He awoke to find that, firstly, his broken hand had been cleaned and wrapped, and it was causing him slightly less pain. Secondly, he was nestled in many more blankets than he had ever thought possible; he didn't even realise that the Walters owned this many of them. They tickled his bare feet - wait. He'd been wearing shoes. He poked his head out of the pile and saw Rabbit perched anxiously at the end of his bed, rocking backwards and forwards slightly. She spun around when she heard him move. "H-h-h-h-hey, b-buckar-r-roo. G-gave us quite a scare t-there, b-buddy." The Spine sat up, concerned about the stuttering. He wrote it off as worry when he saw her looking at him with the same concern mirrored in her photoreceptors. He scooted along the bed towards her, towing the majority of the blankets with him. Smiling at her, eyes wide and frank, he apologized. She shook her head at him, a small grin of her own starting to form. She pulled him into her arms, and he gasped: a robotic grip was painful when one couldn't reciprocate with the same strength. "S-s-s-sorry!"

"It's okay, Rabbit." He patted her arm, before gently pulling her into a hug. "Thanks," he mumbled, embarrassed. He blushed; he was unused to showing such tenderness to his siblings, especially without them initiating it. "Well, aren't ya j-just the cutest lil' thing," she giggled. The Spine burrowed himself back under the covers, groaning as he went.

He reappeared not even a minute later. "You're still here?"  
"I w-wasn't joking, Spine. I am w-w-w-w-worried 'bout you, you know. W-whatever Norman's done, however good his intentions... it doesn't sound safe, if ya ask me."  
"What happened to, you know, 'Don't look a gift horse in the mouth'?"  
"Spine, you do know ya fainted l-like the d-dame in Rex Marksley, right?"  
"Oh."  
"Yeah, 'Oh', b-buddy."  
"Sorry."  
"Did ya really not remember it? Why did you think you were up here suddenly? Last time you weren't goin' all woozy on us was downstairs in the lab."  
"I don't... I'm not sure. I just didn't really think about it."  
"Likely story, w-wise guy."  
"No, I'm being honest. I didn't even think about where I was, or how I got here. I was here, and that was, well, that." The Spine shuffled out of his cocoon once more, and shivered as he moved to sit next to Rabbit, feet dangling onto the floor. She pulled one of the blankets from the pile and wrapped it round him.

"It'll be okay, right, Da'Spine?"  
"Everything will be fine, Rabbit." He nestled closer to the warmth of her boiler. Her arms encircled him, as softly as they could: with his head pressed against her chassis, he could hear the gentle murmur of her internal workings, and he was lulled back to sleep.

 

Lying forgotten in the laboratory lay a small piece of metal. It was not particularly significant in any way; it was slight and misshapen, twisted and rusted from what appeared to be exposure to the elements - though, in reality, it had come into contact with nothing more than a strange potion made by a cripple and a power-crazed man, and a blue matter explosion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * ;)


	7. Chapter 7

Once Hatchworth had been sufficiently pried off by Matt, he had decided that finding Peter was the best option available to him. Following a trail of cat fluff through the mansion, he eventually came across Peter Walter the Sixth sat astride the animal, a jar of peanut butter being passed up to him by Matter Master David.

Whilst David was tall, he was nonetheless raised high on his tip-toes as Peter leant far out of the saddle to grab the jar. Hatchworth, cocking his head to the side, looked on in askance.

"You could just get off your cat, Peter," said David, voice strained as he stretched upwards.

"Or you could grow a few inches."

"Excuse me, fellas, but I could simply raise Matter Master David up, yes?"

"Hatchworth!" Peter cried. "If you wouldn't mind. Then, after that, perhaps you could-"

"No, I am afraid I cannot. We are very much in need of your assistance." Hatchworth stepped forwards, and David scrambled up onto his shoulders. The only issue with this seemingly flawless plan was that David was now too far up for Peter to reach. Bending forwards, his shins held in place by Hatchworth, he passed the peanut butter smoothly to Peter - before toppling from the robot and onto the ground. A clump of Marshmallow's hair broke his fall, and he sneezed as he disentangled himself. Rubbing at his clothes, he stood up and glared at the cat. Marshmallow, apparently as interested in him as he would be a fly, flicked his tail idly in David's direction.

"Now, David. As Hatchworth is apparently otherwise occupied, would you maybe clear up this cat fluff scattered about the hallways? Marshmallow does make such a terrible mess..."

David looked at Hatchworth. Hatchworth looked at David. David raised an eyebrow.

"Actually, Peter, having David help too would be very useful." Hatchworth tipped his hat at David, winking fairly unsuccessfully. David grimaced.

 

Meanwhile, once he'd managed to escape Hatchworth (after being handed at least seventeen sandwiches from his hatch to 'keep up his strength'), Matt had gone straight to bed. As strange as it felt to walk around in a different body, trying to fit human-sized pyjamas onto his new mutant-sized frame was, if possible, even more of a challenge. Deciding against a shirt and shimmying into trousers which had previously been too large for him, Matt slid into bed and was asleep almost instantly.

 

Rabbit smiled down at her younger brother. He was curled up under a mound of duvets, courtesy of herself, and despite her rummaging for blankets, was still tucked, undisturbed, against her chassis. As much as she hated to leave him, Hatchworth was calling for her over the wifi; he'd found Peter, gathered a plethora of Walter Workers on the way, and was back in the laboratory, starting to make a decision regarding Buster Becile. She gently levered his head from her lap, and scooted out from underneath him. Placing a pillow in the spot where she'd been, she pulled the duvets more tighly around him, before smiling down at him once more and leaving.

 

The lab was, thankfully, slightly less horrific than she remembered it being. The ghostly blue glow was gone, and all that remained from the incident was the broken door, broken table - and the broken man lying crumpled against the far wall.

Peter, having never seen the devastation, put a dramatic hand to his heart. "Oh, somebody help me," he sighed, staring at the mess. He turned to the congregation. "Any ideas?"

"Hey." Matter Mistress Bunny put her hands up. "You're the head of the house here."

"And you, Mistress Bunny, are employed here." He spun away from her. "So. Any ideas?"

Rabbit opened her mouth, but Steve shot her a glare. "We cannot dump him in the pond, Rabbit," he whispered. Slowly, jaw creaking, she shut it again. Tentatively, Walter Worker Sam looked Peter in the eye. (Well. In the mask, as it were.)

"Shouldn't we just take him back to the Becile's? Surely they know he's been coming here."

"Yes, but-" Peter paused. Considered it. "I don't doubt that that's the best course of action. But who would make the journey?"

"C'mon, Peter. Pfft. It's not exactly Mordor, is it?" David laughed. He was silenced by Peter's head turning slowly towards him.

"Exactly. It's worse."

"I will take the ring to Mordor!" Rabbit cried. David tried to hold back a snort. Peter's head swivelled round to her.

"Are you sure, Rabbit? After your core..." he trailed off.

"Naw, that's f-fine, Petes. Bygones be bygones, an' all dat." But she looked down, and wouldn't meet anyone's eyes for a few moments. "I mean..." she mumbled. "Da'Sp-Spine can't go, like he is... so I will. Yeah." She nodded her assent, and looked up.

"What do you mean, The Spine can't go? What's he like?"

"Petes, Th'Spine is human. The explosion..."

"Oh. Oh, wow."

"Yep." Rabbit rocked back onto her heels. "Yeah."

"Why does nobody feel the need to inform me of these things?"

"Just did, dummins."

"I would like to help, too, if I may?" Hatchworth asked, sounding rather too loud after Rabbit's mumbling.

"Of course, Hatchworth. Now - are we sure The Spine cannot accompany you? And is Jon not due home soon?"

"Da Jon is c-coming home before Yulemas, but we're not too sure when. You know how he is. As for Spine... he might be up to it. He's not feelin' too great right now, though. But if we tell him there ain't noooooo w-way he'll stay behind. I'd r-rather not t-tell him, honestl-ly."

"But what would we say to him? 'Sorry, none of your siblings are here, buddy. You're probably freaking out right now, but it's fine. I can't promise they'll be back, but they might be?' Great plan, Rabbit."

"Are you sure it's such a good idea to send all of your robots in, unprotected? I get that it's not exactly a warzone, but the Beciles are dangerous, whatever the circumstances." Steve interjected.

"They're robots, Steve. They can protect themselves. Duh." Peter rolled his eyes. Steve glanced meaningfully at Hatchworth. One of his eyes had unfocused, and he was staring into space and smiling.

"You sure?" he mouthed. Peter nodded, though he seemed a little dubious.

"Then it's settled. You two, Spine-o if he's up to it, and Jon if he gets here before you're ready to leave. You just gotta take his body back. Maybe leave a note? I don't know if telling them will make them angrier. Have they even noticed he's gone? Someone will have..." Peter continued muttering to himself as he wandered out, his introspection taking over. The Walter Workers and robots alike looked at one another, shrugged, and dispersed.

 

Upstairs, The Spine shimmied his way out of the duvets - he realised quickly that the pile must have been Rabbit's work, as he was certain that there had not been that many on top of him when he'd dozed off. He made his bed, which took him longer than he'd expected; he'd never actually slept properly in there, just gone into stasis on top of the covers when the mood struck him. When his feet touched the cold floor for the first time, he recoiled and jumped back onto the bed. Tentatively, he reached out with his right foot and touched it delicately to the floor. He shivered. Shaking his head and smiling at himself, he leapt down and, hugging his arms to his chest to protect against the cold air, he ran barefoot to Michael's room.

Timidly, he knocked on the doorframe. The Michael-shaped lump under the covers moved slightly, groaned, and sat up. "Mornin'," he mumbled, a hand hiding his mouth as he yawned. Rumpling sleep-mussed hair, he cocked his head. "Not to be rude, but who are you?" The Spine smiled broadly. He moved forward and sat on the end of the bed, pulling his cold feet up and sitting cross-legged.

"Well," he began. "I'm The Spine. You slept through a lot, buddy. Before I explain... could I borrow some socks? I just have the one pair, y'see, and Rabbit has put them somewhere... with my shoes... yep."

"... Sure." Michael leant over, stretched out an arm, and pulled open a drawer. He grabbed a pair of socks - probably mismatched - and threw them at The Spine, who stuck them on gratefully as soon as he caught them. 

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Could I maybe wake up before you explain, actually? You sound the same. That's funny."

"Funny?"

"I always imagined you'd be higher pitched as a human. Huh."

"You've imagined me as a human?"

"Of course! All of you, actually. Hatchworth would totally have freckles."

"Oh, I've never thought about that before. Want to go and get a coffee? I've never actually tasted one before." He beamed. "I can eat! C'mon, Michael, please?"

"You're like a child, Spine!" Michael laughed. "But yeah, 'course we can. Do you need any normal clothes? I don't think I've ever seen you wear anything that isn't your oh-so swanky vest and shirt."

"I still have something horrific in my wardrobe, actually."

"Oh, dude, I'm so sorry... it's not your army uniforms, is it?"

"Actually," The Spine grinned, "I meant the outfits from when we were marketed as a boy band."

 

Michael, still yawning as he sat down, looked quizzically at The Spine. He'd just swapped his vest, which had been undone before he'd slept, for a jumper. However, their taste in colour varied greatly - he doubted that, after he'd gone shopping, The Spine would ever wear something tie-dye again.

The Spine, for his part, was jiggling his foot impatiently against the side of the stool as he waited for the kettle to boil. He kept touching his hair, as though he wasn't sure it was real. All of a sudden, he gave it a sharp tug.

"Damnit!"

"What are you doing?" Michael jumped out of his chair.

"It... I wanted to check it was hair. That was, y'know. Hair."

"I think it is, dude." Before he could sit back down, the kettle finished boiling. The Spine followed him eagerly, and watched as he spooned coffee granules into mugs. Grabbing his cup with his uninjured hand as soon as Michael had finished, he gasped, but didn't put it down straight away.

"That's - I can feel it! It's burning me!"

"Put it down, then?"

"Oh, yeah. Sorry." The Spine seemed ashamed of his excitement, and hastily but almost over-gently placed the cup back on the side. He twisted his palm so that he could see the slightly reddened skin. Michael, smiling, leant against the counter and waited to watch him drink his first ever coffee. More cautiously, this time, he picked up the mug by the handle. He blew lightly, and took a very small, experimental sip.

"Woah," he breathed. As a robot, on occassion, he would drink coffee as he read his paper in the morning. Actually being able to taste it was totally different - he didn't feel as though he was playing at humanity. He felt human. The bitterness was masked by Michael's last-minute decision to add more sugar and milk than he usually would, as The Spine was unaccustomed to the taste. Michael lead him back to the table, and settled down oppsite him. The Spine began speaking, voice low and rhythmic. "Well, let me explain..."

 

Rabbit and Hatchworth, a few floors up, meandered along in the hopes of finding their brother. Rabbit was concerned that he may have been disorientated when he awoke; Hatchworth, on the other hand, was simply concerned about The Spine in general. He knew that he'd been malfunctioning badly before he'd become human - it was his worry that that would have carried over to his new body. When they reached his room, where Rabbit was certain she'd left him asleep, they found it empty.

"Where else would The Spine be, Rabbit?"

"I d-dunno, Hatchy. Maybe the HoW?"

"The House of Walruses?"

"Tha Hall of Wires, dummins."

After trying both the Hall of Wires and the closet in which The Spine sometimes powered down, they resolved to take a break. Heading to the kitchen to top up their boilers, they came across an almost abnormally cheerful The Spine, leaning across the table towards Michael Reed as they spoke animatedly. They turned in unison as the robots entered.

"S-Spine? Ya okay, buddy?" Rabbit squinted at her brother. He was... smiling. A lot.

"I'm fine," he beamed.

"Ya sure?"

"Yep." He popped the 'p' on the end. Rabbit's eyes almost squeezed shut.

"The Spine, you are behaving in a most unusual manner." Hatchworth stepped towards him, uncertainty lining his features. The Spine, for his part, waved a dismissive hand.

"M-m-m-mista Reed, did 'cha spike his coffee?"

"No," Michael laughed, as he pushed his chair back and stood up.

"G-goin somewhere, wise guy?"

"We thought it was time to decorate the house, Rabbit." The Spine took his mug to the sink. "I thought you'd approve."

"Decorate? L-like Yulemas? W-w-w-with a tree and baubles and-" he winked at The Spine before continuing: "mistletoooooe?"

"Can I help, The Spine? I can bake some traditional Yulemas goodies." Hatchworth's moustache twitched as his faceplates shifted into a grin.

"Me, too?" asked The Jon.


	8. Chapter 8

Michael jumped when The Jon spoke, letting out a very befitting "Eep!" for someone of his height and build. Running forwards and barrelling past the other robots, he grabbed him and pulled him into a hug.

The Jon called out an enthusiastic "Michael!" as he came towards him. Rabbit cooed, sidestepping so his excitement didn't bring him into contact with her heavy chassis.

The Spine dropped his mug into the sink and spun to see his little brother engulfed in Michael Reed's arms. Running the short distance on still-unstable legs, he joined the pile and smacked straight into The Jon. Regardless, he curled his arms around him as firmly as he could, ignoring the bumps that would probably bruise. "Hey, Jon," he mumbled, face smushed downwards against The Jon's shoulder. Tentatively, unwilling to hurt their human friends, Hatchworth and Rabbit lightly put their arms around the others and beamed.

"H-hey, Da Jon! How are ya, bud?" Rabbit yelled.

"Rabbit!"

"Yeah, Jon?"

"It is so good to see you!"

"J-jon... why do you smell like gravy?" Rabbit teased. The Jon, fondly remembering the old skit, gently eased out of the hug and put his hands on his hips.

"What - you mean, you really don't know this?"

"It's very, ahm, pungent, when you get closer."

"How long have we been working- Wait a minute." He clicked his tongue, words crashing together in his abrupt halt of wordflow. He, ever so delicately, plucked The Spine from the group, and moved him by the shoulders to face him. Looking up into a face that was incredibly familiar, yet irrevocably changed, The Jon's eyes seemed to grow impossibly wider. "Spine? Why are you... not like us, any more?"

"How did you know who I was, Jon?"

"You're you. I'd know you anywhere." The Jon shrugged.

Rabbit snickered, hiding her mouth with her hand as she stage-whispered: "H-he may be h-human, but you're right, Jon. He's still a b-b-b-b-big-"

"Hey!" The Spine interrupted, frowning. Michael snorted. Hatchworth, not wanting to be left out, scuttled over.

"Hey, The Spine, it is time for you to take your diarrhoea medication, now, is it not?"

"Hatchy... robots can't-"

"But you're not a robot anymore!" Rabbit wheezed, cackling. The Spine rolled his eyes; he loved his siblings, he really did - but sometimes he'd like nothing more than to disconnect their power modules.

"I know, Rabbit." He sighed. Michael had started to hum the tune of 'Go Spine Go' under his breath, but he looked up at the mention of The Spine's humanity.

"About that, Spine - uh, what are we going to do about it? Like, you perform... as a robot... and now you aren't one?"

"I hadn't actually thought about that," The Spine mumbled, blushing. "I just - I don't think that I... The thing is, Mister Reed, I don't think that I want to do anything about it."

"Yeah, you're a real boy now, right Spine?"

"That's right, Jon. Heh. Yeah, I guess I am."

"Mike's g-got a point though. How can you be in the band if yer not a r-robot?"

"Michael and Matt aren't robots, and they're in the band."

"You know what I mean, Th'Spine." Rabbit scooted closer to him, and affixed him with an unblinking eye. "You're one of the robots. It'll look pretty fishy if a robot disappears, and we suddenly hire a human who, funnily enough, shares many of the same characteristics as our dearly departed robot pal. Oh, y-y-y-you know, such as his voice."

"What if I-" his throat tightened in embarrassment, and he had to begin again after his false start. "You know I used to..."

"Yeah, Spine?" Michael prompted, smiling encouragingly. The Spine looked down, and mumbled.

"I am sorry, I did not hear that. What did you say, The Spine?" Hatchworth asked, looking at his brother in concern. Was he broken?

"I, um." He paused. His face screwed up in determination, and he spoke rapidly, as though he was trying to get the words out as quickly as he could, before he could regret saying them. "You know Norman told you all about how I used to pretend to be human? I thought maybe I could do the opposite." His face, usually incredibly cool and collected, was bright red by the time he'd managed to say it.

"I think it's a marvellous idea, Spine!" The Jon grinned, waving his arms around in excitement.

"T-t-tone it down, Noodle. But hey, buddy? Don't cha think that people will maybe notice that you're, oh, well, not a robot?" She leant closer, and whispered rather loudly, "We all totally knew before Norman told us, dummins. Ya aren't that discreet, buckaroo."

"Would it be harder?" Michael pre-emptively interrupted the The Spine's comeback, before his mouth could form the insult.

"Mm?"

"I mean, like, would it be different - the makeup, and everything? And when you went out as a human, did you move more fluidly? Because you'd maybe have to-"

"Act like a robot," Rabbit finished before Michael could.

"Can I just, perhaps, The Spine, add that you would have to wait until your hand has healed? I just do not think that robots would walk around with broken hands. That is what mechanics are for." Hatchworth interjected.

"Oh, no. Guys," The Spine groaned, "our next show is in three weeks. How long do these things take to heal?" He held the offending hand up, and let it lie limp. The Jon, intrigued, poked it; The Spine, pained, jumped back.

"Careful, Jon," Michael cautioned, putting a placating hand on The Jon's shoulder. For his part, The Jon pouted.

"Didn't mean to hurt him," he said, wide eyes looking apologetically at The Spine.

"Hey, it's okay, buddy. I'm fine." The Spine smiled, wincing slightly as he waved his bad hand as though to prove just how fine it was.

"Shouldn't we ask Peter about this?" Michael wondered.

"Can't it wait until after we've decorated? The show is soooo far away." The Jon spun around as a means of emphasising just how long three weeks was.

"Rabbit, friend-o, did we not come here with the intention of not only checking on The Spine, but also letting him know about Mister Walter's proposal?"

"Way to l-let the cat outta the bag, Hatchy."

"What's going on? What haven't you told me, Rabbit?"

"H-hey! Don't throw me under tha bus, Maverick."

"Apologies, Goose. But no, seriously. What is it?" The Spine, now light enough to do so, hopped up onto the kitchen counter and let his legs swing idly as he waited.

"Weeeeeeell, basically, we're goin' on a spy mission. To the Becile's."

"But you no longer have your spy gear and gadgets," Hatchworth said, concerned. "I do not think you should be going."

"Can I come?" The Jon clamoured, eagerly grabbing Rabbit's upper arm.

"Petes wanted you to anyway, Jon," she replied, prying him off her as she spoke.

"I'm coming, too."

"But Spiiiiiiiine," Rabbit said, face as petulant as The Spine's was determined, "Hatchy is k-kinda right. It's dangerous."

"I'm coming, Rabbit." The Spine repeated.

"Can I come?" Michael tried. He was shot down instantly by a pair of almost-identical voices: Rabbit and The Spine had turned in sync to disregard that idea immediately. Rabbit raised an eyebrow at her younger brother, and he rubbed his hands together uncomfortably. Nonchalantly, she leant back against the counter he was sat upon.

"Can we talk, later?" This was a whisper meant for only his ears. He nodded, but his slight frown betrayed his anxiety. Rabbit was, well, scary - and now she was the strongest of the pair.

"So, um." The Spine spoke up, even as he shifted slightly away from his sister. "Why exactly are we going on some sort of convoluted adventure to the Becile's mansion?"

"We have a dead body to deliver," Rabbit grinned.


	9. Chapter 9

The Spine paced anxiously, once more settled in his room. Hatchworth, uninterested in hearing the re-telling of Peter's plan, had scuttled off with The Jon; he'd wanted to give him the 'Welcome Home' card that he'd so carefully made. Michael had gone to find Matt, so as to determine how concerned he was by his new, mutated form. Rabbit had left last of all, with no explanation or goodbye - leaving The Spine alone with his thoughts. He'd retreated to his room, awaiting the 'talk' that his sister had earlier suggested.

As he walked, he became accustomed to the difference in the way his body moved. There was no stiffness in his limbs, now: his steady pace was fluid and easy. Stopping, he stretched his arms above his head. His fingertips brushed the ceiling still - even with all that had changed, his height had not. Touching his face as he brought his arms back down, he cringed. His skin was clammy, a human response to nerves. A small bit of him thrilled over the fact that his body could now sweat; for the most part, however, he just wanted to have a shower.

Undressing hastily, he wrapped a red towel around his waist. Hurrying out of his bedroom, he scooted into the nearest bathroom; luckily, it was only a few doors down. Just as he stepped inside, his arm was caught in a tight, unyielding grip.

"Spine? C-can we talk?"

"I'm a little pre-occupied right now," he grated, trying to yank his arm free. Rabbit released him, and he used both hands to make sure his towel stayed up. Rabbit pouted, and he sighed, face relaxing into a less defensive expression. "Can it at least wait until I'm properly dressed? Just give me ten minutes. Please?" He looked down at her with wide green eyes, and she melted.

"Sure thing, mista'. I'll be here," she waved her arm back towards his room. He nodded his assent, and scooted into the bathroom. He used the shower as an opportunity to appreciate his new-found humanity. He scrubbed his hair, and marvelled at the texture of it. He sniffed at the shower gel as he lathered it everywhere. He worried that he may have used too much, but decided that it was rather a forgivable offense. Carefully stepping out of the bathtub, he stared at the goosebumps that pricked his skin. Realising anew that he did not appreciate being cold, he hastened to dry himself off. He yanked Michael's sweater on once more, as well as his trousers, but carted his shirt to the laundry basket. Looking bemusedly at the tie-dye, he wondered if Matter Master David, the only other human who was in any way near his height, would have anything more plain.

Rabbit was sat on his bed when he returned, toying idly with her dress. "Nine minutes and f-fifty two seconds. Not bad."

"Little creepy, don't ya think, Rabbit?"

"I'm made of clockwork, wise guy. I always know the time."

"Mm. So, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?" He sat down opposite her, and she turned to face him.

"I don't think you should be coming to the Becile's."

"Rabbit... I'm coming. I know it's dangerous, but I-" The Spine looked down, unable to finish his sentence. Gently, she prompted him to continue. "I can't stay here without you guys. What if something happened to you?"

"It w-w-w-w-won't, chump. We're robots."

"You could still get hurt!"

"Not as badly as you c-c-could, though. Besides," she paused to look him in the eye, "I'm not sure that Norman knew what he was doing. What if something goes wrong while you're not here? P-P-Petes can't fix ya up if you're MIA, buddy."

"Peter probably couldn't fix me anyway."

"That does not make me feel any better, for s-some reason."

"I'm sorry, Rabbit. I'm coming."

The Jon, with a home-made card in hand and Hatchworth in tow, peered around the door frame. "Can we come in?"

"Sure, Jon." The Spine smiled, and turned away from Rabbit. She gazed on sadly, not complicit in her defeat, though she was accepting of it. Quickly pasting on a grin, she beamed at her younger brothers. They piled onto the bed, although Hatchworth was overly precarious as he settled down next to The Spine. Small puffs of steam chugged out of his vents at irregular intervals. Noticing this, The Jon shuffled so that he was closer to him. The bed let out a loud creak.

"We wanted to know if you were ready to decorate? Hatchy told me that you were planning me a party, and we want to make everything look nice for it."

"H-H-H-Hatchy," Rabbit groaned. "That was a surprise, dummins."

"I am sorry, Rabbit. I was just so excited!"

"It's okay, bud. Let's go find some tinsel, eh? Wanna m-make Th'Spine into a tree again, like last year?"

"No, Rabbit," The Spine faux-growled, beginning to chuckle and shake his head halfway through.

"What is it, Spiney?" The Jon asked, all wide eyes and wide smile.

"Nothin', Jon. Just... Last Yulemas was nice, y'know?"

"This year'll be even better. I promise, Spine."

 

They re-grouped in one of the living rooms. Michael had convinced Matt that he looked fine, really - Norman had walked around in that body for years, thus meaning that everyone was used to it; so the pair of them joined the robots and ex-robot in their enthusiastic hunt for Yulemas decorations. For his part, Matt seemed fairly unfazed by his new body. When pressed on the topic, he'd simply replied: "Weirder stuff has happened. Mister Walter will figure something out. Plus, not many people get to literally walk around in someone else's shoes."

Rabbit was tangled inextricably in a trail of tinsel. The Jon, rather than helping, was running around alongside her, giggling every time she tripped. Hatchworth and The Spine brought up the rear: whilst Hatchworth, now, had to do the heavy lifting, The Spine still carried a lighter box filled with baubles. He'd tried to lift more, but his arms had given out. Hatchworth had consoled him, but he was still embarrassed; as a robot, he could easily have carried not only the heavy decorations, but Hatchworth too.

They traipsed through the house, an eclectic train of beings, each excited by the prospect of Christmas. Rabbit, still entwined, fell to the ground; The Jon had been far too busy laughing at her to catch her. This brought the line to a halt - everyone skidded into those in front of them. The Spine ended up bashing his head on Hatchworth's shoulder, as he'd been leaning down to talk to him at the time of the collision. Rubbing his head, he swore under his breath.

"Sorry, Spine, what was that?" Rabbit drawled.

"Oh, nothing."

"Right."

"I was just saying, um, 'duck', is all. I think we should go and feed them later."

"Aw, Spine!" Rabbit's face flicked from amused, to sceptical, to overly emotional. Still lying on the floor, she clasped her hands together. "We h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-"

"Rabbit?" The Spine cried, running over and kneeling down next to her. Michael carefully moved The Spine out of the way, flipped her over unceremoniously, and fiddled with a plate in her back. The Spine, his good hand shaking, reached out to knock the loose connection back into place. Michael grunted as he rolled her back over: the rush of adrenaline had fueled his ability to do so moments before.

"Haven't done that in aaaaaaaaaaages," Rabbit finished. She titled her head as she sat up, tugging at strands of tinsel. "When did y'all g-get over here?"

"You were stuck in a loop," The Jon whispered. He and Hatchworth were holding hands, and they shuffled over together. As much as they were used to Rabbit malfunctioning, since the complete rehaul of her chassis they'd been minimised dramatically - thus meaning that it was more of a shock for her brothers, and the humans, when those that would have previously been considered small occurred.

"Oopsie! You guys look stressed. Are you h-h-hungry? D'ya wanna go get some food? I know humans have ta eat..." Michael shook his head, but The Spine's tummy grumbled. He looked down, expression somewhere between embarrassed and enthralled. He rubbed at it, self-consciously, and looked up at Rabbit. She smiled."W-well fellas, I think that's a y-yes, eh?"

Once they'd managed to help Rabbit up - albeit with a lot of arguing over who should pull what, and where they should stand - the line snaked towards the closest kitchen. Bits of tinsel littered the floor in their wake. Hatchworth, Matt, Michael and The Spine lay their boxes upon the table; Rabbit appeared to have dropped the entirety of her load during the journey. For his part, The Jon simply flopped down into a chair, removed his hat, and set to work covering it with small baubles and sprigs of holly. The Spine's back twinged as he sat down, but he masked the pain by becoming overly-involved in The Jon's decorating. Together, they covered every speck of black whilst Michael raided the fridge.

"Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiichael," The Jon said, as if he wanted a grilled cheese sandwich. "Can I have a grilled cheese sandwich?"

"Sure, Jon. But Sam isn't here right now, so if you drop it, you gotta pick it up, okay?" The Jon pouted, but nodded. The Spine perked up hopefully.

"Michael?"

"Yeah, Spine?"

"Could I perhaps have one, too?"

"And me?" Rabbit beamed, fluttering her eyelashes.

"Allow me, fellas," Hatchworth smiled, peeling open his hatch. Michael rolled his eyes, and put the ingredients back into the fridge.

The Spine stared at the sandwich as though it intended to eat him, rather than the other way around. He held it up to his mouth carefully and deliberately, eyeing it in an almost distrustful manner. It smelt good, and his eyes lit up. Taking his time with his first bite, he chewed it as though unsure how, cocking his head to the side as he did so. Slowly, he smiled.

Matt joined them at the table, sitting down slightly askew. He was still unused to his new body, but was doing his best to ignore his current status as the resident mutant. Hatchworth grabbed him a sandwich, and he tried to work out how to take it with his unusually formed lobster fingers. Just as he had managed to hold it, Michael clapped him on the back as he moved to sit down next to him. Before he'd managed to sit down, however, Matt dropped the sandwich; The Jon, seeing this, called out for Sam.

"Oh Saaaaaam, it seems that Matt has dropped his sandwich..."

"Jon... Sam isn't here, ya dummins."

"You're a dummins," he replied, idly picking off the crust of his grilled cheese and feeding it to his Koi. Michael grinned, looking over at The Spine, who was smiling contentedly.

"Shush, guys. I think The Spine is having a moment with his sandwich."

"Hm?" The Spine queried around a mouthful of food. He swallowed hastily - too hastily - and started coughing.

"Great," quipped Rabbit. "Now he's choking."

Michael, as the only one still standing, hurried over to him. He leant him forward, supported his chest with one hand, and thumped him between the shoulder blades with the other. On the fourth blow, The Spine was able to breathe again. He sucked in great gulps of air, and pressed the fingertips of his good hand to his eyes in a futile attempt to hide the shock-induced tears. "Thanks," he croaked, hand moving to rub at his throat.

Hatchworth, eyes wide, silently handed over a tub of ice cream. The Spine picked it up, looked it at it, and shook his head. "Thanks," he repeated, voice still strained. A tall glass of water was placed in front of him, Hatchworth smiling gently at him from behind it. However bad the pain in his throat was, he didn't want to refuse his brother again; hesitantly, he took a small sip.

"You are all better, now, The Spine?"

"Peachy," he rasped.

"I take it back," Rabbit muttered, "ya aren't a dummins, Jon. Spine is." She jerked her thumb at The Spine as he tugged awkwardly at his collar.

Matt, leaning over uncomfortably to reclaim his sandwich, snorted so hard he tumbled to the floor. Despite his build, Norman usually retained some modicum of dignity; seeing his body lying on the floor in hysterics set Michael off, which in turn caused The Jon to giggle. The Jon's arms flailed, and he grabbed at Hatchworth's forearm. He simply looked askance at his brother, before shaking his head. Loud peals of laughter rang through the room, as Rabbit and The Spine looked at the mess, looked at one another, and joined in - albeit The Spine doing so accompanied by the odd gasp and hacking cough.

Peter A. Walter V strode into the room, Annie clasping his arm; his eyes were intact. When he saw the state of those gathered, however, it did not seem as though they would remain that way for long. He boggled at the sight in confusion, as though seeing his sons' employees and the robots he had grown up with all laughing together was incomprehensible. "You know, dear Annie," he said, turning to leave once more, "I do believe I shan't even ask."

 

The Spine was lounging in the freshly-decorated library, reclined on a sofa which was over a foot too short to accommodate his height. Placing his book, 'The Mayor of Casterbridge', face-down and open on his chest, his used his now-free hand to scrub at his tears. "Poor Henchard," he mumbled, deciding that he should perhaps not read Hardy when his emotions were so forefront in his mind, and were still behaving in an unusual manner. He shifted slightly, grunting as his back and shoulders came alight with pain. Leaning over (carefully, so as to avoid putting unnecessary pressure on his sore joints and muscles) he laid the novel on the floor. Nestling deeper into the cushions, he fell into a deep sleep; the late-afternoon sunlight painting the room red.

He awoke to see that the room had darkened. Yet in his mind's eye, images of flashing light, mud-covered soldiers, dead men, and mortal wounds reigned. He could see his siblings, dismantled; he could only watch as they were deconstructed. He could feel the phantom pain of being pulled apart. The sounds of gunshots echoed in his ears. His throat was on fire; the sound of screaming and sobbing reverberated around the room. He was no longer on the sofa.

Rabbit was clutching his shoulders and shaking him, oily tears of her own starting down her faceplate. She looked terrified. His initial instinct was to protect his sister: he attempted to comfort her, but he couldn't stop screaming.

His whole body shook as he tried desperately to shut his eyes against the images of destruction forcing their way into his consciousness. Burying his face into her shoulder, he hiccupped, furiously trying to stop his sobbing. She grasped at the back of his borrowed jumper, rubbing soothing circles, and murmuring trite nonsense into his ears.

"Spine, Spine, it's okay, it's just a nightmare. You're okay, Th-Th-The Spine. You're safe."

"I'm sorry," he choked, hiding his face in her neck. He was ashamed: he was the strong one, and he'd shown so much weakness as of late. He'd never meant for anyone to witness this - the nightmares had plagued him for decades, but he'd always been so much more careful. Shutting down before everybody else had fallen asleep was not something he would ever have even considered; let alone doing so in such a public place.

Untucking his arms from in between himself and Rabbit, he curled them around her back. Slumping against her, he kept his eyes shut so he couldn't see her expression. His head slipped back down to her shoulder, and he burrowed closer. He needed the comfort she offered, yet he was loath to show how much he required it, scared and disorientated as he was.

"Spine? How long has this been going on?" Rabbit tried to gently push him back so she could see his face, but he clung on tighter and refused to look at her.

"It's j-just a nightmare," he mumbled.

"Yea-huh, buddy." Unseen by her brother, she raised an eyebrow.

"It's nothin'," he said; Rabbit could only just make out the words, muffled as they were by her shoulder.

"I know it's happened before," she lied, trying to get him to be honest with her. "I've heard you."

A fresh wave of sobs overcame him at this faux-revelation, and he bit his lip hard enough to make it bleed in an attempt to assuage the onslaught of tears. Feeling guilty because of her lie, she returned to rubbing his back with added vigour. He stiffened as her hand pressed too firmly against the painful areas of his spine, and she looked down at him in concern as she abruptly stopped. Instead, she simply wrapped her arms around him as tightly as she dared.

"Since V-V-Vietnam," he managed to choke out. "When we were- when we were separated." She nodded.

"It's okay n-now, we're home," she said, softly. His shaking was dying down, so she scooped him up into her arms as she stood. Weakly, he tried to protest; but the trauma had taken away all of his fight. Shutting his eyes again, he relaxed against his older sister as she carried him to his bedroom.

Carefully, she tucked him into his bed, despite the early hour. He lay pliant and limp, exhausted. As she went to leave, The Jon popped his head around the door frame.

"Rabbit?"

"H-hey, Jon." He beckoned her over with a flick of his wrist, and scuttled back out of the door. Curious, she followed.

"Is The Spine okay? I don't feel like he should be alone... Did something happen?"

"He's... Jon, he's not doing too well. He had a r-r-rough afta'noon. But he seems fine, now."

"You know he won't tell you he needs company, even if he does, right? He doesn't like to let other people know when he's hurting. He should know we don't think his problems are a burden, but I think... I think he does really believe they are." His eyes filled with tears as he looked up at his sister. She shushed him.

"Don't you s-start, too!"

"Sorry," he sniffled. "Can I go and see him? He isn't asleep."

"How d'ya know that? He looked all in a minute ago, bud."

"I just do. Please, Rabbit?"

"Ain't my place ta stop ya," she said, sidestepping so he could flit past her.

 

The Jon delicately sat on the edge of The Spine's bed, facing away from him. The Spine, too weary to even raise his head, watched his little brother's movements from eyes that were puffy and red from too much harsh scrubbing away of tears.

"Why are you unhappy, Spine?" He shifted to face his older brother. "Is it because you're not a robot any more?"

"No, Jon," The Spine said drowsily, half into his pillow. "'M not unhappy," he added, as an afterthought.

"Then why were you crying? Rabbit said you were sad."

"I... I was sad. Rabbit made me feel better again. It wasn't a permanent kind of sadness, Jon." The Spine pushed himself to sit up, wincing at the strain on his lower back. It seemed as though his malfunctions from before his transformation had, indeed, carried over to his human body. "I had a nightmare," he confided.

"I get them sometimes, too," The Jon whispered. He shuffled closer to his big brother, and leant back against the headboard next to him. "I think I might have one tonight. Can I stay in here, with you?"

The Spine, slowly sliding back down the headboard, yawned as he nodded. "Sure thing, buckaroo. Wake me up if anything is bothering you, y'hear?" He felt much more comfortable acting as the eldest again, and he snuggled into his duvet.

"Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Honest. Doesn't bother me at all. You're worth it, buddy." He smiled sleepily, eyes half-shut.

The Jon hugged his knees to his chest as he watched his brother fall asleep. "So are you, The Spine," he murmured.      


	10. Chapter 10

During the night, The Jon had shuffled down the bed. He had done so in an attempt to cocoon his brother, to protect him; yet he was fearful that, in his sleep, The Spine may have shifted and bumped into him. Instead of snuggling closer, as he would have previously done, he was curled haphazardly alongside him.

When he awoke, The Spine was face-to-face with blindingly blue photoreceptors. Seeing him hurriedly squeeze his eyes shut, The Jon dimmed them, muttering a very quiet "Sorry" as he looked away. Peeking cautiously out of one eye, The Spine smiled.

"Good morning, Jon," he said.

"Good afta'noon," corrected The Jon.

"Is it really?"

"Yep! C'mon, I know Hatchy wants to take you shopping."

"Heh... yeah. I do need to change. Y'know, I think I'm going to go and find Master David first, Jon - I can't keep wearing this." He plucked idly at Michael's jumper as he spoke.

"I like it," The Jon said simply, smiling.

"You would," smirked The Spine, sitting up slowly. He stretched as he stood, back twinging in protest. He ignored it: for today, at least, he was determined to enjoy himself.

It seemed, however, that the world - or, at least, Peter Walter the Sixth - was against him. Leaning nonchalantly against the door frame, he half-heartedly knocked.

"Come in," The Spine said, his good mood colouring his tone.

"I'm afraid you might have to postpone your shopping, Spine." Peter frowned. "I need to check you're healthy enough to go with the others. Rabbit insisted." He shrugged.

"I'm fine."

"The man's perfectly well! C'mooooon Petes," moaned The Jon, "we wanna goooooo."

"Sorry, Jon. We can't delay, not really. Buster's body must be taken away."

"Oooh yeah. Right. I forgot about that!" The Jon exclaimed. The Spine, shaking his head, chuckled. He'd really, really missed his little brother.

"Let's just get it over with, alright, Jon?"

"Alright," he conceded. Standing up, he squeezed The Spine's arm gently for good measure, and they trailed behind Peter, following him down the hall.

 

Rabbit was waiting for them when they arrived, anxiously dancing from foot to foot. "Heya, Petes!" Her exclamation sounded rather too exuberant for her facial expression and body language. She nodded at each of her brothers in turn as they entered, smiling wanly. Peter led The Spine to one of the large tables that were usually used for restraining the robots during their worst malfunctions. Jumping up on to it, he asked: "So. What're you checking?"

Peter shook his head. "I'm checking that Norman didn't - ahem - fudge up your insides, Spine. How do we know what he and Becile did?"

"We... uh... don't?" The Spine said, tone dubious as he pointed out the obvious. Peter sighed.

"Exactly."

He looked sharply at the pallor of his skin. Peter couldn't be sure if that was a natural trait; something that may have been brought over from the colour of his metal as a robot. However, Rabbit had mentioned that The Spine had difficulty powering down some nights... perhaps that accounted for the shadows under his eyes. He proceeded to check his heart rate, blood pressure, respiration rate, and temperature. All would be considered normal. Then, he came to his hand.

"Spine. Why has your hand been wrapped up in this, frankly, ridiculous fashion?"

"...It's broken?"

"Well, is it, or isn't it?"

"T'is. Rabbit stood on it." Peter froze. Had his face not been exchanged for a swirling vortex of blue matter, The Spine was certain he would have gone pale.

"Stood on it?" Peter cried. "T-That's gotta be more than broken - crushed, more like!"

"Rude," Rabbit interjected, rolling her eyes. "Ain't that h-heavy." Groaning, Peter retorted,

"You weigh over a ton, Rabbit."

"H-hey! Why d'ya gotta hurt a gal's feelin's, hmm?"

"Shut up, Rabbit," The Spine chuckled. She rolled her head round to glare at him, but cracked a small smile and winked instead. The Jon caught sight of her expression, and fell into a fit of giggles.

"...Right." Peter picked up the offending hand, and turned to The Jon. "You still have your medical aid protocols installed?"

"Sure do!"

"Can you splint this properly? It may not be functional, but at least it won't be a hindrance either, that way."

"Yep!" He turned to his brother. "This might hurt a little bit," he said sympathetically.

"I don't mind," The Spine smiled, steeling himself.

"Rabbit, can you get some ibuprofen? Or, y'know, something." Peter asked, waving a dismissive hand.

"Sure thing, Petes." Squeezing The Spine's shoulder reassuringly as she passed, she hurried out to hunt for painkillers.

As he worked, The Jon spoke. "Shouldn't we take him to the hospital? This is pretty bad, and if he moves it too much, it'll only get worse." Peter shook his head resignedly.

"He's not got any legal documentation - he's not even supposed to exist! Besides, I'm pretty sure he has no health insurance." The Spine agreed quietly, nodding without opening his eyes. He'd seen numerous injuries on the battlefield, but seeing his own, very human, hand so mutilated and swollen was sickening to his stomach.

"Is Hatchy about? I need some newspaper, and maybe some more cotton."

"Why d'ya have cotton anyway?" The Spine wondered, eyebrow raised. With his eyes so tightly shut, it did, admittedly, look more than a little strange. The Jon said nothing, but wiggled his eyesbrows, smirking. "I have a newspaper upstairs. Is Rabbit on the WiFi?" One eye opened to measure his little brother's response. At The Jon's nod, he continued. "She can grab it."

"I need gauze and ice, too. And some bandages... something I can strap this up with."

"Great-Great Grandpappy should have given you all hatches," Peter snorted.

 

Ten minutes or so after Rabbit returned, Hatchworth made his way down to the laboratory. It had been Rabbit who had requested him, at Peter's prompt: he wanted to prepare them for their upcoming task. He had considered calling in some of his own robots - creations without sentience, useful only as providing extra muscle when needed. However, he had deemed that unecessary; the original four could make their own decisions, should the need arise - it was likely they would only be hindered by the other's strategic programming. He'd also toyed around the idea of just sending in the ones that would not be hurt by the experience, be it emotionally or physically - yet, again, their sentience made his Great-Great Grandfather's robots the most suitable.

The Jon had hopped up next to The Spine once he'd finished binding his hand, and they were chatting animatedly. Rabbit looked on fondly as she stood with Peter - she'd decided, in the last few minutes, that she would like a hatch of her own very much indeed.

Hatchworth sidled into the room with an exaggerated swing of his hips. "Hello there, fellas."

"Ah! Good, Hatchworth, you're here." Peter looked relieved that he had been given an opportunity to escape Rabbit's planning. (A boob hatch? How would that even work?)

He took a careful step back from Rabbit, and turned to face the congregation. "Let's make a plan."

Beside him, Hatchworth was doing some (rather spectacular) jazz hands.

 

It was decided. They knew where they were going, which entrance to use to enter, and which to exit. Planning to utilise The Spine's humanity, he would be disguised as a Becile worker - should they have more difficulty than anticipated, he had volunteered to act as a distraction. Rabbit had shared an uneasy glance with The Jon when he had suggested it, but it was the logical solution. Not only would he blend in the easiest, it was likely that he was the only one the Becile's did not yet know of.

They had piled into the most nondescript car they owned; it was strong enough to carry the robots, but was painted black and blended into the late evening sky. The Spine was driving - he'd had the ability as a robot, as all the others did, but now he was far less likely to be pulled over. He was a surprisingly speedy driver - his grin suggested that he'd missed being able to do so. They had toyed with the idea of putting Becile in the boot, but had come to the realisation that even though The Spine was now human, there were still three other robots in the car - as such, they were liable to be stopped, and having a corpse bundled into the back would have been rather more suspicious than a figure who appeared to be dozing. He'd instead been propped up between Rabbit and Hatchworth, and strapped securely in; with his eyes shut, and his hair mussed over his face, he could almost pass as asleep. Hatchworth stared ahead blankly, ignoring the dull thumps against his chassis whenever they went too quickly around a corner. Rabbit, on the other hand, was very vocal about her distaste regarding being sat next to a dead body.

"A-a-a-a-are we there yet? This lump is a real p-pain, Th'Spine."

"Almost there."

"Can I swap seats with Tha Jon? How come he g-gets ta sit shotgun, anyway?"

"No. Do you mind being quiet for a minute, Rabbit?"

"Sorry, o-old man. Didn't know yous was such a grump." Rabbit slumped in her seat; the car wobbled alarmingly, but was strong enough that it did not tip.

 

The Spine parked a short way away from the Becile's mansion - close enough for a quick getaway, but hopefully not so close that the car would be discovered. By the time they'd readied themselves, they were protected by the cover of nightfall. The Jon, who had remained eerily quiet throughout the entire journey, murmured "The invisible worm, That flies in the night..." as Rabbit, despite her moaning, yanked Buster's body onto her back, and led the way.

When they were just out of sight, huddled behind a cluster of bushes and shrouded by shrubbery, they made sure they all knew exactly what to do. The Spine was to lead, with Hatchworth carrying the body; Rabbit and The Jon were to act as backup. Should any of them get lost, the robots would use their WiFi to talk, whilst The Spine had a phone which had been altered, so that any texts he sent would be received by all three of his siblings.

They had decided to leave him propped outside the mansion - somewhere he'd be easily found, but no so far in as to make those delivering him easy to spot. Though Peter had toyed with the idea of leaving a note, Rabbit had said - with an element of menace in her voice - that they would be occupied with the mystery, and that the lack of knowledge may well serve them right. The Spine had also pointed out that leaving a note would instantly present them as suspicious - whereas this way, so long as only he and his robot bretheren touched the body, it would be virtually impossible for them to detect them. Robots had no fingerprints or viable source of DNA; The Spine, on the other hand, simply did not exist, and as such this meant that his fingerprints could not be traced back to the Walters.

Rabbit passed Buster's body to Hatchworth, and he nodded at The Spine. Sticking his head out from behind the greenery, he put a thumb up; he, with Hatchworth following close behind, crept out from their somewhat safe position and headed towards the building. The Jon grabbed Rabbit's hand and smiled reassuringly at her - a quick gesture of solidarity before dropping it in favour of keeping watch. The pair followed their brother's every move, with their photoreceptors trained firmly on them.

They were almost to the little alcove by the front of the house when it happened. Seeminly out of nowhere, a guard grabbed The Spine by the arm. Hatchworth, letting out a surprisingly primal yell (and, in the process, alerting every other staff member on duty of their presence), threw the corpse off his back and into the shadows behind him, before running at the guard and prying him off The Spine. Rabbit, sighing, waited until she saw more guards running to the source of the commotion before jumping out.

By the time she and The Jon reached their brothers, another six or so security guards had rounded on them. Two were grappling with The Spine; despite his uniform, and the green tint which had been hurriedly put into his hair, they remained unfooled. Hatchworth was trying to fight off the other five by himself - two clung to each arm, rendering him unable to grab at the door to his hatch.

Rabbit leapt into the melee, hitting two Becile workers across the face in a single punch. Through the Wifi, over the sound of squeaking gears and the human's heavy panting, she messaged her brothers.

_We need ta get these suckas outta the way, before any more come. Then we can get outta here - Hatchy, did ya get Buster close enough to the house?_

_Just about, Rabbit_ , he replied.

Redoubling their efforts, they managed to tackle six of the guards. Unwilling to harm them, they tried to knock them out; that way, they'd cause no lasting damage, but would leave them to be capable of escape. When they were lying on the ground, finally silent, three of the siblings looked to one another, relief clear in their eyes.

It was then that The Jon spoke. "Weren't there seven guards? I can only see six here."

"G-g-g-guys... that ain't the only thing that's missin'. I can't see Th-Th-Th-Tha Spine."


	11. Chapter 11

"Oh, dear." Hatchworth's lilting intonation did little to put his companions at ease.

"Well, whadda we do now then, fellas?" Rabbit jutted a hip out, and laid the palm of her hand flat against it, curling the fingers into her clothing.

"Find him?" The Jon offered.

 

The Spine groaned, a hand snaking up to grasp at his hip. His long, tapering fingers - some bloodied, and all of them bruised - clutched at his shirt, the feel of fabric somewhat comforting, yet somewhat unnerving; had he been a robot, he could have escaped the guard that had plucked him from their midst.

He wriggled about as best he could, trying to ascertain the damage he had sustained. It was dark, wherever he was; uncertainty plagued his every thought. Both of his arms could move freely, though he felt a twinge of pain in each of them, and the previously injured hand had suffered greatly due to the rough treatment. The home-made splint seemed to have come loose, and with gentle, probing fingers The Spine could feel that the swelling had increased a great deal. Glad, at least, that his torso was unchained, he moved onto testing his legs - only, to his great disdain, to surmise that both ankles were bound firmly to the floor.

From his position, slumped awkwardly against a wall, he tried to shift himself further upright. This inflamed a number of previously unnoticed pains - his head felt as though it had been covered in cotton wool, though a sharp pain pricked at his temples; a wound in his side, which, with a quick feel, was noted down as still bleeding. This brought to his attention some worrying questions: How long had he been unconscious for? If, as he assumed, it had been for a while - how deep must this cut be?

Trying to peel off his shirt without aggravating the wound, he overbalanced and fell to the floor. He grimaced. Slowly shifting himself upwards, he clutched at his head - the fall had made him somewhat dizzy, and he had difficulty leaning backwards without feeling as though he needed to be sick. He shook his head: as a robot, this may have shimmied any jammed wires back into place. As a human, however, this made his urge to lie back down and never re-open his eyes increase tenfold.

He knew that people who had head wounds should not sleep. But the pain was rapidly overruling his logic, and he decided that a short nap, with which he could regain his strength, couldn't hurt. As hurriedly as he could, he finished removing his shirt and pressed it to his side, in a somewhat poor attempt to prevent any excess blood flow. Rolling ungracefully onto his uninjured side, with his legs stuck out at uncomfortable angles, he shut his eyes -

Only to be interrupted seconds later by a bright light shining in his face. He squinted uselessly into the light, a disgruntled frown taking precedence over his features. It was an expression not dissimilar to one he often wore, when he heard Rabbit calling for him from across the Manor.

Tied down and beaten he may have been, but proud he was, too.

"What?" He grunted, remaining on the floor. (Out of a sense of dignity, he assured himself.)

His pride was rewarded with a sharp kick in the stomach. The silhouette commanding the torch crouched down, pressing closer towards him.

"Don't back-chat me." It stood up as suddenly as it had hunkered down, taking a step backwards. The figure began to circle him, chuckling menacingly. "You will answer my questions," it continued, "or you will die."


	12. Chapter 12

The Spine shifted, trying to look beyond the light, desperately attempting to determine the anatomy of his captor: were they man, or robot?

His internalised questions were halted somewhat abruptly as the figure timed another series of sharp kicks, directed, this time, at his leg, to match the rhythm of their speech.

"We know you came here with the Walter robots. We don't, however, know who you are." They paused; inhaled a whistling breath, and chuckled. "So tell me - come on. Who are you?"

"John Smith," The Spine choked out. To his surprise, he heard a laugh.

"Nice try. I'm glad to see that you've not been purged of your foolhardy ways, boy. Means I get to kick them out of you."

Through the haze clouding his vision, The Spine could see the shadowed figure leaning closer to him. He shut his eyes, cringing as he felt warm breath on his exposed neck. "I'll take great pleasure in doing that later," they whispered, small flecks of saliva falling gracelessly from their lips. "Can't let you out of this predicament too soon, though. Got to keep you in suspense." They paused; stepped backwards. "Got to get some answers," they announced, voice back at its earlier volume.

"I'll answer one of yours," The Spine paused, breathing deeply before continuing, "if you answer one of mine."

"What is this? A game for schoolchildren?" The voice lowered to a deeper pitch, taunting and reckless. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"Essentially," The Spine agreed. Too many years of Rabbit's innuendos and teasing mannerisms had made him immune to the need to rise to such words.

"You answer mine first."

"No."

This time, a punch landed squarely on his jaw. The angle was - fortunately - poor enough that it did not jolt The Spine from consciousness, though his already throbbing head felt the damage keenly.

"Are my family safe?" The Spine tried, speaking through a mouth made of fabric. The words sounded muffled to his own ears, even as he spoke them.

"No dice, kiddo. I'll ask again: Who are you?"

"Smith. John Smith. I'll ask again, too, if I must. Are my family safe?"

"So these Walter 'bots, they're your family? You're all talk, Mister Smith - and therein lies your problem. You've told me far more than I've told you."

"Priorities make a man stupid."

"Unfortunately for you, that's all too true. So: you consider the Walters family. But would they see you as the same?"

"Yes," The Spine spat, judgement clouded by righteous anger. He was the lynch pin of the Walters - how dare this person insinuate that he could even possibly be anything less?

"We noticed something unusual, we did. As we let the Walter robots leave, we could count only three of them. The ugly, short, barrel-chested ginger... What was it's name?"

"Hatchworth." The name was ground out between clenched teeth, even as The Spine's vision blurred. He longed to check his wounds, particularly the hole in his side; but there was no chance of him being afforded a moment alone whilst his captor was so intent on drawing answers out of him.

"And the one with melons stapled to it - is it Rabbit? Always breaking down. Useless. Then there was that golden fairy; hardly able to focus for seconds at a time. Dosed up on something, most likely."

"Don't speak about them like that!"

"Don't worry. You won't be awake to hear about them much longer." The figure crept closer yet again, this time aiming the torch upwards towards their face: not in a manner dissimilar to children telling horror stories at sleepovers. The planes of their face appeared, angular and creepy with the aid of the lighting. The only part clearly visible was their teeth - stained yellow around the edges, as though they'd bitten into a bitter fruit; bared in a grimace before the lips stretched, cracked and dry, around a brittle but dangerous grin.

The Spine looked away. The mouth laughed, gradually getting louder as the face loomed ever closer. "It's time for you to sleep, The Spine," it mocked.

And so he did.


End file.
